Marston shook his head. “Which means, at last there can be a real leader here, instead of someone too weak to get the job done.” He thumped his clenched fist against his chest. “No more will I have to bow and serve someone so entirely inept. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve almost gotten me killed over the years? Just for some idiotic idea that pops into your head?” His voice rose an octave. “I will write my name in blood on the seas, and finally be rewarded, rather than being relegated to serving under…”
“No offense,” Uriah held up a hand to cut off the man’s self-important ramblings, “but your problems aren’t exactly going to take up chapters in my fucking memoirs, okay?” He shook his head. “I really don’t care if you like me or not, because frankly, that’s not a requirement of either of our jobs. But if this is mutiny, then I’m going to have to string you up as an example to the others.”
“I’m the quartermaster.” Marston reminded him. “Which means if the crew doesn’t like you, I can replace you.”
Uriah drew his sword. “My mother always told me that I was irreplaceable.” He nodded in mock sincerity. “She taught me that I’m a ‘precious treasure,’ Marston. A ‘unique and perfect little flower.’” He gave an edge to his voice. “Unless you’re calling my mother a liar…”
Marston advanced on him. “Do you really intend to fight an entire ship?”
“Of course not.” Uriah scoffed. “That would be ludicrous.” He paused. “I intend to fight this gentleman here.” He pointed at the man closest to him. “And then Dolan over there.”
“Deven.” The man corrected.
“It won’t matter for much longer, son.” Uriah assured him calmly, then gestured to the pair to his left. “And then I’ll fight that fellow with the peg leg and that chap in the striped pants.” He turned back to Marston. “I don’t have to fight an entire ship. It’s like my sainted mother always said: ‘How do you fight an army?” He raised his sword. “One man at a time.’”
The crew rushed forward.
Uriah had killed three men before the first one had even fallen to the deck.
The quick movement caused the arrow wound in his back to become agonizing, tearing open more and more as he moved his arm to attack and defend.
He kicked another man overboard, then blocked a strike from one of Rowland’s men. He punched the man, then ducked to slice his stomach open.
Three men grabbed Uriah, pushing him backwards towards the rail. He tried to pull his arm free, but found himself oddly unable to break away. His right arm wouldn’t respond, too injured from the arrow wound. He kicked the man holding his legs and used that momentum to topple over onto the man holding his left arm. The fall to the deck loosened the crewman’s grip and Uriah was able to pull his hand from his grasp and stab him. Unfortunately, it also drove the arrow further into Uriah’s body, so deep it felt like it almost popped out the other side.
Another opponent died seconds later, as a dozen more men crowded around Uriah
He switched to his left hand and twirled the weapon several times to get a better feel for the unfamiliar grip.
It would have been nice to say that he hadn’t been expecting this to happen. At least then he could pretend that he hadn’t pissed his whole life away like this.
But he couldn’t say that.
Because this was exactly how he expected things to go.
Well, maybe not the Marston thing. Not yet, anyway. He hadn’t been expecting the man to betray him this soon. He’d known the man for years, and while they weren’t close friends, he had thought he would back him when push came to shove. But Uriah certainly anticipated that he’d be forced to fight the sixty or so men who were left under Rowland’s command. Uriah’s own men being added to that list was just a headache to a drowning man. There were already too many opponents, so it didn’t matter how many more were added.
No, he’d known that there was no way out of the situation with the girl alive.
It was an unwinnable scenario. Lose-lose, seemingly designed to teach him humility and the cost of being such a selfish prick his entire life.
No matter what he did, either the girl was going to die or they both were.
But he had to try anyway.
Death. First.
So, if there was no way she was going to make it out of this situation alive, then he was going down with her.
That was the way of his people.
Which was probably why they’d never been accused of being very bright.
But there was really no question how the fight was going to go.
None at all.
In the end, he’d ended up taking down about twenty of them before finally being subdued. Which was just an appallingly low number for an enraged Grizzwoodian. He was utterly and completely ashamed of how poorly he had fared. Even against such a high number, he should have been able to kill more of them. He didn’t understand it.
He hadn’t lost a real fight since he was a child trying to stand up to his father, and the realization that he had failed washed over him like a tidal wave, destroying everything.
He’d known he was going to fail, obviously, but knowing something and living it were two different things.
There were a lot of aspects to his life which he didn’t have confidence in. But fighting had never been one of them. He could fight. He could kill. And he did it well.
But he’d simply lost today.
The only time it had really mattered… and he lost.
It was just like that goddamned fruit basket, all over again.
Because he wasn’t a hero, no matter how many times he seemed to forget that fact.
He couldn’t protect what was his.
And that shame made him want to cry. Just cry uncontrollably.
The crew forced him to his knees, wrenching the arrow from his back in the process. He hissed in pain, struggling with them, but there were two men on each arm holding him down.
“You’re killing friends!?! Your own crew!?! For… for some little piece of ass!?!” Marston sounded equal parts amazed, insulted, and furious. “Really!?!”
“You were never my friend, Marston.” Uriah corrected. “You were just some asshole I took pity on because he was good at shining my boots.” Uriah spat at him. “So kill me and be done with it.”
Marston’s eyes narrowed in total fury. “Hold him.” He growled out to the men, then moved to grab the woman and drag her closer, so that she was in front of Uriah. “Aw, lookit the pretty face which causes a man to betray his own.”
Uriah turned away, guessing what was about to happen.
“I said LOOK!” Marston screamed, his voice sounding raw with anger and what could only be the bizarre sense of betrayal he seemed to feel.
The crew grabbed Uriah’s head and held it in place, pulling his eyes open so that he couldn’t look away.
Marston grabbed the back of the woman’s head, holding her face up so that it was inches from Uriah’s. Her eyes darted around in panic for a moment, then locked with his. Deep, dark pools of utter perfection. Mysterious and beautiful as the nighttime in his homeland, filled with secrets and wonder.
And at the moment… fear.
The woman’s perfect stunning eyes just drove home his failure. Seemingly accusing him with their flawlessness and screaming at him for being so weak that he’d allow this to happen to her.
He’d never felt so ashamed in his entire life. A tear traced down his cheek.
He’d failed her.
Marston passed the knife in front of her face, showing them both the small blade.
“I’m… I’m sorry.” Uriah whispered to her in a daze, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
Marston pressed the blade to the woman’s face and began to cut…
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Travels With a Fairytale Monster Page 39
