Dynami’s Wrath

by St Clare, Kelly

  Caspian lost his arm a while back, and just when he’d seemed to come to terms with that, his father was murdered. Any good was undone, and when they returned to Zol, Caspian fell into a funk worse than any before, isolating himself and shutting everyone out. On top of all that, Ebba knew he was wracked with guilt over abandoning his people to escape the pillars. Why did he feel so bad about that? Aye, he was a prince—or, actually, an exiled king. But if people weren’t willing to take responsibility for their own survival, why should he feel obliged to help? If he was a pirate and not a mainlander, Caspian wouldn’t be so burdened by it all.

  She just had to figure out how to show him none of what happened was his fault.

  Ebba watched as Peg-leg whipped around the fire, arranging a number of pots over the embers. The orange blaze of the licking flames drew the eye, and Ebba knew it would trick those on the logs around it into believing the early evening was darker than it actually was. Perfect cover for slipping in unnoticed. Ebba lurked in the tree line nevertheless.

  Sally abandoned her shoulder, flying toward the fire.

  “Remember our plan,” Ebba hissed after her.

  “What’re ye doin’?” a cool voice asked.

  Ebba inhaled sharply and spun away from her fire vigil.

  Hard silver eyes stared back at her, shining in the twilight above a smirking mouth.

  “Jagger, ye blighter, what’re ye doin’ sneakin’ about?” she demanded, heart thumping in her chest.

  He leaned against the coconut tree where she’d been . . . pausing.

  Ebba tensed as Jagger lowered his head to hers. He towered over her, a couple of heads taller at least. Oversized dolt. She shifted her gaze from his face but flatly refused to step away. After four unsettling weeks in his company, Ebba was certain he only invaded her personal space to throw her off guard, and that riled her to no end.

  “I asked ye first,” he said eventually.

  She shrugged. “I asked ye second.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Aye, it does. My question be closest to yer answer, so it should be answered first.”

  Jagger’s smirk changed to a wide smile for an instant before it disappeared.

  “Why aren’t ye joinin’ them?” he asked, watching her closely.

  Too closely. Jagger made her feel like a fumbling, blushing moron sometimes. He wasn’t particularly mean—not always, anyway. When he was, she could never be certain if the taint made him behave that way or whether the nastiness truly originated from him. Jagger’s eyes weren’t black anymore—so he wasn’t contagious—but the taint still resided strong within him, just as it did in each of her fathers to a far lesser degree. He had to be struggling with it even if he’d somehow retained his will against the pillars for two years. Other than that, there was a list of reasons he infuriated her. He never pretended for starters, which she didn’t appreciate. His silver eyes saw too much. And then there was the unsettling proximity thing that drove her to madness. Something about him made it incredibly hard for her to relax . . . especially when she’d elected to wear a dress for the first time and his lean, muscled body was too close and making her skin feel strange.

  In a word? Jagger made her feel wary. Ebba was determined to hold him at arm’s length until she trusted his character as much as Caspian’s.

  Her gaze had wandered up to his, but she tore it away to look forward to the fire pit. “I was just watchin’ for a bit,” she answered.

  He hummed. “It be yer birthday though. Why are ye watchin’?”

  “Why are ye askin’ so many questions?” she shot back, cheeks heating.

  “Are ye gettin’ angry with me, Viva?”

  Viva. He’d just started calling her that in the last few weeks, and it irritated her. Ebba was certain he had to have some secret mean reason behind it.

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, mimicking Verity’s stern tone.

  “Make me, Viva.”

  She turned her head. “I thought ye were older than me, Jagger. Now I be wonderin’ if that’s the case.” A pirate truth if she’d ever told one. Jagger was nineteen, like Caspian, but his self-sufficiency made him seem older. Ebba had seen him as a hostage, as a guide, as a pirate, as a tribesperson, and even as the king’s prisoner, and he’d slipped into each role with a confidence that Ebba quietly envied. He was a pirate who told pirate truths, and he seemed to be good or bad depending on whether the outcome would affect his survival or the lives of his Neos tribe. Most of the time.

  Ebba rubbed her forehead.

  “Ye seem mightily at odds for a birthday pirate.”

  A pirate in a dress. “Aye. I’ve got a Jagger headache,” she shot at him.

  Ebba glanced out at the fire pit again, stomach twisting. Maybe she should change.

  “I’ve never seen yer hair braided like that,” the man beside her said suddenly.

  She stilled, trying to appear nonchalant. “Verity did it. And Sal put in the shells.”

  “Looks nice.”

  Ebba looked at him and saw his gaze wasn’t where it usually sat when her six fathers were around. Jagger’s eyes trekked down, lingering on the dark skin of her bare legs.

  She cleared her throat. “Why are ye starin’ at my legs? Weren’t ye complimentin’ my hair?”

  He jerked, and Ebba almost burst out laughing at his off-guard expression. Jagger liked her legs. She got it. Actually, she’d been guilty of looking at his thighs a few times, too. She’d have to be blind not to find him attractive. Didn’t change a thing though when she couldn’t trust the sod.

  The flaxen-haired pirate inhaled and leaned away, taking a step back from her.

  “Ye’re not comin’ in, I take?” she asked, then smiled. “It is my birthday, ye know.”

  He moved back another step. “Nay, Viva. There be too many mainlanders there for my liking.”

  She agreed, but her agreement was silent out of loyalty to Barrels. When Caspian first came to be on Felicity, there was only him to contend with. With a whole group of them together, it was like they encouraged each other to remain weak and a bit stupid. Ebba didn’t envy Verity’s job when their crew left. The healer would be the only person with survival smarts left on Zol.

  “Well, have a nice evenin’ then,” Ebba told him.

  Jagger turned to leave but paused, the long fingers of one hand splayed out on a coconut tree. He half-glanced over his shoulder.

  “Ye should wear dresses more often-like.”

  From anyone else, that would be a compliment. From Jagger, she paused to wonder. Was he saying she wasn’t a pirate? Setting her up to be ridiculed later? It was hard to tell, and Ebba wasn’t brave enough to ask. He didn’t give her a chance to anyway, flashing a smirk before disappearing amidst the trees.

  She rubbed her temples again. Maybe Jagger headaches were a real thing.

  Ebba dropped her hands to her sides.

  Enough was enough. She’d navigated Felicity through Syraness; she’d survived the dark belly and taint of Malice. She’d brought down a stairwell on the heads of Pockmark and his cronies. Ebba-Viva Wobbles Fairisles was no coward.

  She left the protection of the coconut tree and strode forward, edging between the gap of two logs in preparation to quietly sit down.

  No one reacted. Everyone continued their conversations, and the knot within her began to loosen.

  White light exploded above her head and Ebba flung her arms up to shield her eyes. Eyes watering, she glared between her arms at the wind sprite directly overhead. Sally was illuminating Ebba for all to see.

  Flaming. Sod. She’d done that on purpose!

  I’m going to pull your wings off, Ebba mouthed at her.

  Sally’s shite-eating grin widened, but after another few seconds, she dimmed her white glow and zipped away to join Pillage, the ship cat, on Barrels’ lap.

  “Ebba-Viva,” Stubby breathed, his blue eyes wide.

  Oh, no. Ebba lowered her arms, dread filling her.

&
nbsp; Conversation had stopped. Really stopped—in an ‘everyone can hear crickets’ way. The fire crackled and popped; the gentle tripping rush of the waves remained too. All other sound? Gone.

  “Ye look beautiful, lass,” Locks said, pulling Verity in to his side.

  Ebba looked accusingly at the healer, whose face was impassive. The expression gave her pause, however. Was she overreacting? Maybe this situation wasn’t that strange. Today was her birthday, after all. They were going to pay her more attention because of that.

  “Our daughter.” Peg-leg sniffed. “Wearin’ a dress.”

  Nope, definitely the dress. The smile forming on her lips faded. She faltered under the gaze of sixteen adults and their ten offspring, who ranged from toddler age to young teen. The two princesses stared along with the rest.

  At least their older brother wasn’t here.

  “Are those feathers, Ebba?” Grubby asked, venturing closer.

  Ebba glanced down at her dress. The top half was black linen; the neckline curved at the same height as the jerkin she usually wore over her tunic. The bottom half, from her waist down to mid-thigh, was made of peacock feathers, like the ones she’d often seen on Maltu. The feathers were a myriad of browns, and vibrant blues and greens. She’d looped her longest necklace, a string of sparkling black pearls, around her neck and arranged the loops in layers. Along with the seashells in her hair, her white dreads, and bare feet, Ebba was happy with the outcome. She felt a bit pirate, a bit tribal, and—if truth be told—a bit female-like as well.

  “Aye,” she answered, standing straighter, though every part of her wanted to slink into a shadowed corner.

  “Right pretty colors,” Grubby said, beaming.

  “I like the new look,” Plank called over before continuing to hum his favorite daydreaming tune.

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly. Ebba knew she could trust his opinion.

  “You look absolutely gorgeous, my dear,” Barrels said, petting Pillage absently.

  Pillage didn’t look that impressed. He disregarded her and began licking his paws.

  Ebba blinked back at their Exosian guests and they back at her. Her fathers had all commented but still stared at her, unmoving and unspeaking.

  “So,” Ebba began, fidgeting awkwardly.

  “Is something burning?” Verity asked Peg-leg.

  “Are ye sayin’ that after cookin’ for my crew for near-on twenty years, I’m novice enough to let sumpin’ burn?” Peg-leg scowled at her.

  The healer sniffed the air. “Yes.”

  Ebba winced along with most in the clearing. Even the mainlanders knew about the cook’s moods by now. Verity was the only one who didn’t play along with pretending not to notice the charcoal coating the meat when Peg-leg was peeved. Luckily, Ebba was no novice at being a daughter.

  She pushed through the sand to the fire pit where Peg-leg had started to shove pot lids back on with a clang, the usual warning sign of his state of mind.

  “Did ye make all o’ this for my birthday?” she asked, infusing her voice with awe.

  Peg-leg stilled, glancing at her. “Aye, lass.”

  She gasped. “Ye must’ve been up at dawn. There’s so much here. How ye’re able to spread so little food so far, I’ll never know.”

  “Well,” he said, visibly softening, “not dawn, but that’s only because I know what I be doin’.”

  Ebba leaned over and sniffed a pot. Blimey, that was definitely the burned one. “No one cooks so well as ye do.”

  His chest puffed out, and he gently nudged the pot lid into place before turning to her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice choked. “I can’t believe ye be eighteen. Happy birthday, lass. I’m so glad ye’re in our lives.”

  After Malice, Ebba understood just how much her fathers relied on her. Not anything she did as such; her mere presence kept them putting one foot after the other. Her fathers had sailed under Mutinous Cannon before stealing her. The pillars, when very weak, had abided within Cannon’s body. He’d tainted the grog barrels with his blood, and slowly the taint seeped into his crew. The pillars began to feed off them, her fathers included, very gradually stealing their will. When the pillars became strong enough, they left Cannon’s body to occupy Malice, the ship captained by his grandson.

  “I’m glad to be in yer lives, too, father,” she replied and rose up on tiptoes to kiss his ruddy cheek.

  And she was. Whatever they’d been through in the last few months, she knew her fathers would die for her and she for them.

  “Mistress Pirate,” someone gasped. “Is that you?”

  Ebba froze at the rich timbre of Caspian’s voice and slowly spun to face him.

  Three

  Ebba waved at the one-armed prince, the movement unaccountably awkward. Normally, she didn’t hesitate to hug him to try to spread happiness into his dejected frame, but she was in a dress. The dress had made her more aware of her body, and how close her body would be to Caspian’s if she hugged him.

  Added to that, Caspian’s whispered confessions from back on Exosia chose that moment to rear up again in her mind. Blasted things. . . . Except her curiosity about his confessions had been part of the reason she was wearing a dress in the first place.

  Maybe that was it.

  He stood in the middle of the pit area, russet hair disheveled, amber eyes dull but for a flicker of warmth, and mouth ajar as he took her in. His gaze swept up her legs, focusing on the feathers on the skirt of the dress before continuing up the dark skin of her bare arms to the capped sleeves. He scanned her face, lingering on her moss-green eyes before, lastly, looking at her braid.

  “You look absolutely stunning,” he announced, walking forward.

  From his lips, the words sounded almost formal, but the declaration still made her cheeks warm. Caspian wasn’t her fathers, and he wasn’t a woman. How should she respond to the compliment?

  Ebba fidgeted on the spot, burningly aware of the presence of her six fathers and the prince’s sisters.

  Caspian strode forward and bent over her hand, pressing his smooth lips to the back. Did kisses on Ebba’s hand count as a first kiss? She thought it might have to be the lips. Honestly? If this was what it took to get a flicker of light in the prince’s eyes, she’d wear dresses every day.

  He dropped her hand, and Ebba cleared her throat, trying to ignore Peg-leg hovering directly behind. Caspian lifted his gaze above her shoulder and blanched slightly.

  Ebba half-turned to glare at her father, and he returned her look with a bland, innocent expression, limping away to check another pot.

  “Do ye like my dress then?” she asked the prince.

  His cheeks were flushed, and Ebba clenched her jaw as someone giggled. His sisters, she presumed. Caspian had let his siblings know that the betrothal between himself and Ebba was a ruse, but the pair persisted in their giggling whenever he and Ebba were in close proximity. Not only that, they’d clearly clued in the elder three of Marigold’s grandchildren.

  “You look ravishing, Mistress Pirate. It exactly suits you. Did you make it?” he asked, blinking a few times.

  There was definitely more light in his amber gaze. Was a dress all it took to lure him out of his funk?

  “I thought it up, and Verity magicked it here.” She walked over to a free space on a log, and Caspian trailed after her.

  They sat together, and silence fell. Why was this awkward? Things were never stilted with Caspian. Even with him going through a tough time and staying silent about his troubles, the conversations they did have about superficial things were never stilted. He’d told her that he held a deeper regard for her, aye, but that hadn’t cropped up again either.

  Funny. Because right now, she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “How are ye doin’, Caspian?” she blurted. “I haven’t seen ye all day.”

  The murmur of conversation around them resumed. Finally.

  Caspian’s empty shirt sleeve was tucked into his belt. He, like all of the mainl
anders, was dressed in pirate garb. Caspian appeared comfortable in the slop trousers, yellowed shirt, and black leather belt after several weeks of wearing it.

  He smiled at her, a ghost of the smile he’d first sent her way on Maltu. “I don’t want to talk of myself, Mistress Pirate. It’s your birthday. I wish to talk of you.”

  “Me? Why? What’s there to talk of?”

  His smile grew, even briefly bringing a lost intensity to his focus on her. “For starters, how has your day been?”

  She thought back. “I woke up and went swimmin’ across the inlet to my sitting rock. Grubs was there, and he told me the octopus family be havin’ more drama. One of the husbands made off with a younger man.”

  Caspian choked, but gestured for her to go on.

  “Grubs was torn up about it, so I spoke to him for a bit.” Ebba continued. “Then Stubby was frettin’ about a scratch on his hobby ship, so I went and fetched him his tools. After that, I went to find Barrels to ask him sumpin’ but came across Verity and . . . that be about it. Oh,” she rushed to add, “Sally spilt beetroot juice all through my bed, so I have to sleep outside tonight.”

  The prince’s shoulders shook, and he laughed, wiping at his eyes. A weight dropped in Ebba’s gut at the sight because she knew the tears were only partly amusement. His sadness was so close to the surface that any strong emotion could make his eyes water. She’d seen Peg-leg do the same on occasion.

  “This is why I ask to hear about your day,” he said, shaking his head. “Mine wasn’t half so eventful.”

  “Aye, but it ain’t fair that I should always be tellin’ ye a story and never gettin’ one in return.”