Dynami’s Wrath

by St Clare, Kelly

“Your dress,” Caspian said, aghast. “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined it.”

  “Just a dress.” She walked up the beach a few steps before plonking down in the sand. A dress she’d planned to keep, but it was ruined now, so no point adding extra guilt to the prince’s shoulders.

  He lowered down next to her.

  “Want to talk about the beads?” he asked.

  The beads. She’d forgotten them for a moment. Bloody Jagger. “Nay, not really. Ye?”

  “Nay,” he mimicked her. “So what are we to speak of then?”

  They could speak of what he’d told her back at the castle. But. . . .

  Ebba’s gaze dropped to the curve of his upper lip, tracing around the perimeter to his bottom lip. She’d felt his mouth on her hand several times and knew his lips were smooth and warm. Today, she’d turned eighteen, and tomorrow they’d all be leaving on a quest Ebba didn’t know if they’d return from. Certainly, they wouldn’t return the same.

  If she’d known Malice would capture her, Ebba would’ve made sure to have her first kiss before then. While she was still . . . unchanged by the evilness surrounding them on all sides. It was too late for that now, but Ebba had no idea what the next stretch of time would involve, though if it was anything like their life in recent months, she could expect some hardship.

  Maybe they didn’t have to fill their time with speaking.

  “Caspian?” Ebba asked, then froze. Sink her, she should’ve thought of how to phrase it before opening her gob.

  The prince looked up at her, his russet hair still dripping, shirt plastered against his frame. “Mmm?”

  “Uh,” she stumbled. “Uh. . . .”

  He frowned and took her hand. “Mistress Pirate, what is it?”

  Ebba squeezed her eyes shut. “Look, don’t be weird about this. But ye’re my best friend.” Her eyes flew open. “Don’t tell Sally I said that.”

  The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “I won’t.”

  “Ye’re my best friend,” she repeated, watching as he grimaced. “And I would like ye to kiss me.” She paused, adding, “Please.”

  Were Caspian’s amber eyes usually so wide?

  She waited patiently for him to talk.

  The prince swallowed several times, darting a look around the coconut trees and into the shadows. “You want me to kiss you?”

  “Have ye got water in yer ears? Aye,” she said with a quick shrug. “That’s what I said. Will ye oblige?”

  “Oblige,” he echoed. His amber eyes fell to her mouth, and she got the feeling the prince was doing exactly what she’d done and was tracing her lips. He didn’t think they were too big, did he? She’d been called ‘fish lips’ more than once, and it hadn’t been a compliment.

  The quiet extended and Ebba shifted, plucking the wet top-half of her dress away from her skin. “I’ve made ye uneasy.”

  “Uneasy,” he said with a short laugh. “No, not uneasy.” His laughter faded. “Not entirely.”

  “I thought ye’d be okay with kissing me because o’. . . .”

  “Because I told you that I have feelings for you?”

  She blinked, tearing her gaze away. “Aye.”

  “It’s not that as such,” he said.

  “Well, I just asked ye to kiss me, and yer takin’ an awfully long time to decide,” she reminded him, an edge to her voice. Should she ask if it was her lips that were the problem? He was still staring at them.

  He lifted his chin and straightened. “I am, I apologize.”

  Enough talking already. This wasn’t how kissing had worked in the brothel. Though, perhaps she shouldn’t base all of life’s lessons on what she’d seen there, given that everyone she’d met since behaved much differently.

  “It’s just. . . .” He trailed off, then exhaled. “I worry us doing that would mean something different to you than it means to me. I need to know what your reasons are so I don’t read into the kiss in the wrong way.”

  Ebba nodded after a beat. “I didn’t much think o’ that, I’ll admit.”

  “Why do you want me to kiss you?” the prince asked.

  Ebba met his eyes. His molten orbs burned with the inner fire they’d lacked, and she inhaled, realizing just how lifeless his eyes had recently been in comparison. That was how he should look, how he used to look all the time. Riveted by everything, eager to learn and understand.

  The prince was searching her face, and she felt her brows draw in slightly as the answer occurred to her.

  “I don’t want to die without being kissed,” she said simply. “Maybe that’s silly, but it’s gotten into my skull. I trust ye in a way I don’t trust others. Ye always make me feel safe, and ye’d never laugh at me. I want my first kiss to be with you.”

  His breath caught in his throat, and Caspian reached forward and pulled her wet braid over her shoulder, trailing his fingertips over the shells there.

  “Then yes,” the prince said, leaning closer. “I’ll oblige.”

  Except now she was worried about him. “What will the kiss mean to ye?”

  “It’s just something I’ve dreamed of for months. No biggie,” he said, quirking a brow.

  His teasing tone made her stomach somersault. Caspian grinned at her, and after a few hesitant seconds, Ebba gave way to her fluttering stomach and returned it.

  She brought her face to hover directly before his, excitement thrumming through her. The night was warm, but his breath was warmer. This close, she could count his individual eyelashes. Were they really about to kiss? The thought was foreign. Enticing. Like standing out on the bowsprit at deep sea.

  Caspian touched his lips to hers.

  Inhaling sharply, Ebba reared back, pressing a hand to her lips.

  “What?” he asked, frozen with his hand hovering in the air where it had rested on her cheek.

  She dropped her hand, heart thundering. “Sorry, ye gave me a fright. I thought ye’d announce it or sumpin’. But I’m ready now. Do it again.”

  Ebba moved back and, this time, was braced when the prince kissed her.

  His lips were smooth, and Ebba thought softness might not be such a bad thing after all. His mouth moved against hers, and Ebba mimicked what he was doing, shuffling closer to seek better purchase.

  Caspian brought his hand up and trailed his fingertips over her braid again, tugging gently on the end. Ebba smiled at the gesture and drew back.

  They stared at each other in silence.

  Caspian raised a brow. “Your thoughts?”

  She struggled against her urge to grin and sat back, tilting her head to watch the moon. “Kissing makes me feel alive. I liked it. Thank ye.”

  He was watching her; his eyes boring into the side of her face in the way that used to make her uncomfortable. Now, she just wished his gaze would stay there always and that he wouldn’t ever get lost in himself again.

  The prince copied her pose and craned to see the moon. The full moon was a blazing silver, unhindered by cloud and so bright its light drowned out the stars.

  “What did ye think o’ it?” Ebba asked him, genuinely curious. The kiss felt great to her, and she’d really only thought of Caspian as a friend before. If Caspian had feelings for her, surely the kiss would be better.

  He turned his head to her. “I think I’ll keep those thoughts to myself, Mistress Pirate. I don’t want to scare you off.”

  That meant he’d really liked it. Ebba hugged her knees to her chest, continuing to study him. “Ye know how ye have feelings?”

  Laughter deepened his voice. “Which ones?”

  “The ones ye have. For me.”

  “Oh, those.”

  She scowled at him in the dark. He was teasing her again. “Does it ever bother ye that I’m a pirate and ye’re a king?”

  The white of Caspian’s teeth disappeared. He shook his head. “I’ve never once regarded it.”

  “Never? Why?”

  “. . . I guess that I believe a deep and true regard will surmount any obstacle in its
path.”

  If it was meant to be, it was meant to be. An interesting thought.

  Ebba turned away from him, peering back up at the moon. “Thank ye for obligin’, Caspian.”

  “You’re welcome, Mistress Pirate, but don’t think you can die just because you’ve been kissed.”

  She tipped her head to rest on his shoulder that was minus an arm. “I won’t be doing that. And don’t think ye can be dyin’ on me either.”

  Five

  “You should pretend harder that you’re sad to leave,” Verity recommended in a way that sounded a lot like an order.

  Ebba smirked. “But I ain’t.”

  The healer shot her a warning look. “You’ll hurt their feelings.”

  “Their fault for havin’ them,” Ebba said flippantly, sniggering when Verity threw her hands in the air and walked off.

  Felicity was loaded. Everyone was aboard, aside from Locks, Caspian, and Barrels, who were dallying overmuch for her liking. The first rays of the sun were shining upon their inlet.

  Soon, it would just be the pirates again.

  The last three members of their crew finished their goodbyes and boarded the ship.

  “Weigh anchor,” Ebba shouted the second their feet left the wharf.

  “Goodbye, Ebba-Viva,” Verity called from the wharf. Pointedly.

  Seriously? She’d already said goodbye.

  “Bye, everyone. I’ll miss ye.” She wouldn’t.

  Or maybe Ebba was just eager to snap back to normalcy, except . . . normalcy wasn’t normalcy anymore. She frowned. What lay ahead would be fraught with peril that she might not return from. In truth, she probably would miss the people, just not the unsettling mainlander nonsense they brought with them.

  Marigold and her horde waved back, the children jumping up and down, and Ebba raised a hand to wave at them as Felicity drifted away from the wharf and toward the tunnel entrance.

  Sod it, Ebba would miss them. Verity had thwarted her attempts to pretend otherwise.

  She sniffed and shouted goodbye one last time, and then left her fathers to ready the ship as she disappeared down into the hold, blinking back tears.

  Sally was already setting up her usual bed made of a sock stuffed with Barrels’ cravats. Pillage was looking on, his tail swishing back and forth.

  Ebba placed her hands on her hips. “I ain’t sure ye should be bunked with the grog, Sal.”

  The wind sprite glared at her, squeaking and balling her tiny fists.

  “I can’t understand ye.”

  Sally zipped over in a blurry, glowing streak, head-butting Ebba in the gut. The wind left Ebba’s lungs and she doubled over, reeling back a few steps. Of course, that was when Pillage decided to stick out his paw.

  Ebba tripped backward, landing solidly on her butt. Her eyes watered as she coughed for air. “Why are ye attackin’ me? I ain’t the boozehead.”

  The sprite rubbed the top of her skull, shrugging.

  Bloody eejit. Ebba narrowed her eyes at the ship cat, who was licking his paw, pretending nothing had happened. There would be payback.

  She rubbed her stomach, saying, “Ye weren’t in control around the grog, Sal, not by a long shot. Ye either left me and my fathers in the cages on Exosia because ye fancied the pink champagne fountain, or ye’re really a traitorous sod. Which is it?”

  Their gazes locked in a battle of wills, and Ebba was determined not to break it.

  The sprite failing to come to their aid wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to her—not even close—and maybe it wasn’t Sal’s job to rescue them. But discovering Sally hadn’t been locked up while the crew of Felicity faced death had hurt. Sitting idly by didn’t seem the kind of thing a friend would do, and Ebba believed them to be friends.

  She still did. Ebba just wanted to understand why Sally hadn’t helped them.

  Scowling, the sprite glanced away and grabbed the open end of her bed. She swung the sock of cravats over her shoulder and floated down to sit astride Pillage.

  “Come on then,” Ebba said to her. “We’ll fix ye a mini-hammock above mine.”

  She strode down the passage in front of the cat-riding sprite toward the sleeping quarters.

  Eight hammocks were strung between posts, one high and one low. Except for her spot closest to the ladder because she had two trunks of clothing and knick-knacks to store. This didn’t leave space for anyone else to move in with her. She guessed Caspian and Jagger would fight over the vacant hammock below Grubby.

  Ebba threw open the lid of one of her trunks and rummaged through the mess of bangles, necklaces, bandanas, and sashes until she found two long leather cords she used to wrap around her ankle. Taking Sal’s sock bed, she knotted the cord around either end. Ebba secured the sprite’s new mini-bed directly above her hammock, stretching the cords and tiny sprite bed out between the two posts.

  “There ye are,” Ebba said, dusting off her hands.

  Sally threw her a suspicious look and left Pillage’s back to drift upward. She pushed down on the sprite-sized swinging bed to check if it would hold her weight.

  Ignoring her, Ebba reached into her jerkin and drew out the flax pouch containing her beads. She stared at the pouch, her mind a buzzing mess, before heaving a sigh and tucking the pouch into the bottom of the trunk. There was a whole heap of thinking to be done about that, and she couldn’t summon the energy or the courage just yet.

  Reaching to the other side of her jerkin, she pulled out the arm bangle Marigold had given her. Surprisingly, the Exosian woman had given Ebba a gift she might’ve picked for herself. But the bangle also held sentimental value to the older woman, and while previously, Ebba would’ve taken that as a sign to always wear the jewelry, now—after the bead situation—she . . . well, she didn’t trust that security any longer.

  Important things were so easily lost. Better to keep both items here where they were safe in case she couldn’t fight off her enemies.

  Adding the glass tube of sand from the royal Exosians to her trunk, Ebba straightened and glanced at Pillage. Launching herself at the cat, she managed to scoop him up.

  Running for the back of the sleeping quarters, she opened the first trunk she came to and deposited the cat inside.

  “Ha, that’ll learn ye,” she said triumphantly, closing the lid and listening to him meowing within.

  When Ebba reached her hammock again, the sprite was settled in her swinging bed and blinking innocently up at her.

  Did Sal think she was born yesterday?

  Setting off for the hold again, Ebba called back, “I’ll be marking lines on Stubby’s brandy bottles. Don’t even be tryin’ to drink any. And if I find ye’ve been in the grog overmuch, there’ll be Davy Jones to pay, I assure ye.”

  In the hold, she made directly for Stubby’s ‘secret’ brandy collection. There, Ebba etched lines into the bottles with the tip of her dagger.

  The light in the hold, already scarce, darkened suddenly.

  She cocked an ear to the deck. They must’ve just entered the tunnel out of Zol. Navigating the confines of the low passage to the outside ocean would take an hour at least.

  “Ebba?” Barrels called through the bilge door. “I thought we could have our first reading lesson.”

  Sink her. They’d been sailing for how long and Barrels was already planning their first lesson? She’d known how eager he was to teach her, but she’d kind of anticipated monthly lessons at the most. Still, her urge to read was unchanged.

  “Aye, comin’,” Ebba called back. She moved back through the grog barrels and down the hall to the ladder.

  She’d learn as quickly as possible, and then it would be over with. She’d be able to read her book of memories, and that’d be that.

  “How is it ye don’t know how to read?”

  Ebba caught sight of Jagger lurking by her hammock. “Why is it ye always lurk in the dark?”

  His teeth gleamed white in the dim light, but his fists were clenched tight. His silver eyes were
darting around the room, never settling on one thing.

  What was the matter with him?

  She took his silence to mean he wouldn’t answer. “Barrels tried to teach me, but I wasn’t int’rested.”

  “Because ye’re spoilt,” he said, jaw clenched.

  “I ain’t spoilt,” Ebba countered. She was. Wouldn’t be pirate-like to turn away from the easy road.

  Jagger scoffed. “Ye’re not spoilt, and I ain’t tainted. Is that how we’ll be playin’ it?” His chest rose and fell, and he continued scanning the hold.

  “I didn’t learn to read because I didn’t want to. Now, I do,” she said, stepping closer to her hammock and him. What was he doing there, anyway?

  She eyed him. “Are ye okay, Jagger?”

  “Fine,” he snapped. He closed his eyes and then sighed. “I just came down to talk to Sally. I’m goin’ now.”

  Jagger was absolutely, pull-out-her-dreads, infuriating. As he made to walk around her, Ebba stepped into his path, gazing up at him.

  “Why did ye give me the beads?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “I told ye.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t tellin’ me, ye cryptic shite.”

  “Not my fault I can’t give ye the answer ye’re wantin’.”

  The answer she wanted. . . .

  In a bid to hide her shock at the pirate’s words, Ebba turned to the bilge ladder.

  Her beads had been her happy memories, a secret aspiration of what she could one day be, and something she’d held fast to for as long as she could recall. Those happy memories and aspirations shouldn’t have disappeared when the beads were cut away, but somehow, they were gone too. Ebba wanted Jagger or her fathers or Caspian or Verity to tell her she was strong enough to wear them again. That losing them hadn’t been her fault. That being restrained while the Malice pirates sawed the beads away didn’t make her as weak as she’d felt. As she still felt sometimes.

  Ebba needed someone she trusted to tell her that reaching for those happy memories and dreams again was okay. Except the only reason she had to be told was because Ebba didn’t believe it herself. Which made her think that the only person who could give her permission was herself. Which didn’t seem possible.