by Clare Sager
For the past couple of years, ever since he’d lost control and hurt Billy, he’d strived to avoid giving in to any emotion. He’d shouldered the constant fear it would unleash all his feelings in one terrible tidal wave. Now he’d well and truly caved beneath the weight of his terrible, wonderful attraction to Vee and yet …
He glanced back at the professional, and she raised an eyebrow at him, smiling. With blonde hair and pale pinkish skin, she was indeed pretty, but his body gave no response. Not even the slightest thrum of temptation.
A happy huff burst from his mouth, and he carried on his way.
He’d let his gentler, hungrier emotions for Vee show. He’d even acted upon them, and yet they hadn’t consumed him with unbridled lust or opened the door for other, darker feelings to destroy him.
That woman held no allure for him whatsoever for one simple reason.
She wasn’t Vee.
Which was glorious. But also awful.
A temporary arrangement.
Gaze on the floor, his mouth twisted. Maybe that was what she’d realised, too, when she’d reacted to the timber merchant’s teasing. They couldn’t be a couple because soon enough they’d be on separate ships, perhaps even on opposite sides of the ocean depending on where his next assignment sent him. Although he’d cut a swathe through the pirates of Arawaké over the past couple of years, they marauded the waters beyond this scattering of tropical islands, and he could be sent anywhere in the world to hunt them.
He sighed and when he looked up, he found himself outside Waters’ bookshop. His subconscious must have led him here, seeking Vee. It wouldn’t hurt to have a quick look.
The bell rang bright as the bells of the fair folk back in Albion when they rode past in the night, unseen, but heard.
Waters looked up, blinking. “Ah, Knigh, wasn’t it?” He smiled, blue eyes twinkling. “Well, come in then, no need to hover in the door.”
Knigh cleared his throat and obeyed, nodding as he entered. “Mr Waters.”
The older man chuckled. “Just Waters – no Mr required in Nassau, young man.”
“But didn’t I hear you call someone Mr Vane last time I was here?”
Waters’ eyebrows shot up. “Observant fellow, aren’t you? Well, Mr Vane is something of an exception. An exception I’d rather stay on the right side of. So, yes, he’s Mr Vane, at least to the likes of me.” His angled his head, a sardonic smile quirking his mouth.
Knigh glanced along the lines of bookcases as he approached the counter. Good, they were the only two here, so he was free to ask. “You protected Vee from him that day, though, didn’t you?”
Eyes narrowing, Waters gave a deep sigh. “A little too observant, it seems.”
“I’d apologise if I felt sorry about it.” Knigh lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.
Waters chuckled, shaking his head. “You almost sound like Vice.” He glanced at the door. “Is she not with you?”
“No. I was hoping I might find her here, truth be told.”
“As you can see” – Waters lifted his hand, indicating their only company was leather and paper – “no Vice here – save what’s in some of the spicier books.” He gave a wink. “I haven’t seen her today – I only knew The Morrigan had returned when I saw you, in fact. Assuming you’re still with them?”
Knigh nodded.
“Of course you are.” Waters’ eyebrows raised, and his eyes glinted above a warm smile. “Speaking of our favourite Pirate Queen …”
He reached under the counter, and Knigh couldn’t help but tense thanks to all the years of combat training. But when he only produced a book bound in salt-stained blue leather, Knigh released the tension with a breath.
“This came to me some time ago with a large shipment of old books from” – he waved his hand – “somewhere on the mainland. I don’t ask too many questions.”
No doubt because his stock was mostly stolen from ships or towns or looted from wrecks. “Understandable.”
“I’ve only just had the chance to go through them all, and I found this.” He slid the book over the counter.
Knigh ran his fingers over the embossed shape of a dragon picked out in copper leaf, gleaming fire-bright like the sheathed hull of the Venatrix.
“I can’t make head nor tail of the contents,” Waters went on, “but I know she likes anything dragon-related thanks to her love of el Draco, so I thought I’d better keep it aside for her.”
Knigh raised his eyebrows at Waters. El Draco – that was what the Hesperians had called Ser Francis Drake. There were a few books about him on the shelves in her cabin. “Her ‘love’ of Drake?”
“As long as I’ve known her – anything I have on Drake, she buys.”
Knigh scoffed. “Because of the treasure.”
Waters’ brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, fingers splaying over the countertop as he looked at the book. “I don’t think it’s just that. Someone after that would be interested in the biographies and the mad theories scrawled by men convinced they know the key to finding his buried silver. But she buys the adventure stories, the epic poems written about his journeys, and books of his own poetry with just as much enthusiasm as the research material.”
He raised his eyebrows, gaze returning to Knigh. “Lady Vice might be a terror on the seas, a wily trickster, and, so I hear, a wanton temptress” – he snorted – “but she loves a ripping yarn.” He cleared his throat and bent closer, a conspiratorial edge to his smile. “I think that’s what brought her to the pirate life, you know.”
To avoid those clear blue eyes, Knigh flicked through the book. Hand-written, not printed. Yellowed pages – maybe vellum rather than rag paper. Lords and Ladies, this was old. And not Albionic. The symbols … a few looked familiar. Ancient Hellenic? No wonder Waters couldn’t make sense of it.
It wasn’t a language the Navy considered necessary even for officers, so he’d never learned, but some of the alphabet was the same as the modern form and occasionally used in inscriptions. These pages could be a nonsensical arrangement of letters for all he knew. But – no, there was something about the repetition of the symbols, the split of paragraphs that made it feel like it just might make sense if one only had the codex or language to decipher it.
Just like Vee. He bit back a laugh. Lured to the sea by too many tales of pirates and adventures? It sounded just as likely as any other reason he could think of for her to be here. Didn’t she have a wall full of books in her cabin? And didn’t she tell stories for the crew? She’d even said she didn’t want to deprive those who couldn’t read of the chance to hear great tales. The Pirate Queen they sang of, whom the Navy feared, had a soft spot for gripping yarns. Who’d have thought?
Treasure aside, Drake was certainly an exciting figure. Perhaps Vee’s interest in him pre-dated her time on The Morrigan with FitzRoy. Maybe it was a glimpse of the young woman she’d been before …
“‘It isn’t that life ashore is distasteful to me,’” Waters intoned, chin lifted as if he were an actor on the stage, “‘but life at sea is better.’”
Knigh blinked. “Pardon?”
“Drake’s own words, I believe, quoted to me by an 18-year-old Vice.” He chuckled, eyes warm. “So, you see, she’s always been fascinated by the fellow.”
Shaking his head, Knigh flipped the book shut. “Enough of your sales pitch, Waters. I can see why Vee curses you for the amount of money she spends here. How much for the book?”
Maybe it would cheer Vee up.
This thing between them, yes it was only temporary, but they could still enjoy it while it was there. He would undoubtedly treasure it, just as he’d treasure the memory of the coral reef and swimming so close to that whale shark.
Knowing she had this and the earring, just small gifts from him, might make it feel like there was still some connection threaded between them like a course plotted on a chart. No matter how many miles of ocean separated them.
Long Live the Queen
Vice folded
her arms, staring at the rocking ceiling above her head. Perry was ashore, so she had the room to herself for a while. And it was much-needed after what Fitz had just told her.
After she’d left Knigh, she’d finished her errands and come back to find Fitz alone. When she’d first entered his cabin, he’d raised one eyebrow, an amused glint in his eye like he expected her to try to seduce him again.
When she’d asked him about the box from the wreck, his expression had closed, and he’d nodded. “I can’t tell you yet,” he’d said softly. “If Blackwood finds out what it is, it’ll belong to the Queen.” He’d raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “And you and I both know we’ve been looking for this since long before he arrived with Her Majesty’s letter of marque.”
Her stomach had dipped. A clue to Drake’s treasure. It had to be.
Even now, lying in her hammock, that was the only conclusion she could draw. At last, after all these years, they had a clue to the treasure.
In FitzRoy’s cabin, her blood had bubbled with questions until he’d gone on. “Once we’ve docked in Albion and Blackwood’s off the ship, it’ll be safe to tell you, and we can go after the real prize. But until then, I can’t risk any word escaping. You understand, don’t you?”
She’d nodded, but only five words had really registered: once Blackwood’s off the ship. He was leaving when they returned to Albion.
And he hadn’t said anything.
Her stomach twisted like someone wringing out their washing.
Frowning, she squeezed her arms. Not that she cared, but he clearly thought she’d – what? That she’d break at the knowledge he was leaving The Morrigan in five or six weeks’ time?
“Don’t flatter yourself, Blackwood,” she muttered.
He was clearly so concerned at her reaction, he’d put off telling her. How pathetic did he think she was?
She ground her teeth, jaw aching.
She’d always known this was just a fling. That’s all she wanted, all she needed – a physical thing to fulfil a purely physical need. Well, he’d delivered.
And now she was done.
She’d gladly spare him a tearful farewell at the docks like some good little Navy wife left at home. Is that what he was expecting?
Scoffing, she shook her head, arms going rigid at the thought and sending the hammock swinging wildly.
The man was a bloody idiot.
She’d do it before they left Nassau. That gave her a good few days, then she’d tell him thank you and goodbye and wish him well for the rest of the trip, but he could find someone else to warm his bunk, and she wouldn’t give a damn.
Her throat tightened.
No, she wouldn’t give a solitary damn.
A knock rapped at the door – rap rap-rap. Too quiet for most of the crew. Too rhythmic for the rest. Too uniform to be anyone other than –
“Vee?” Knigh’s voice.
Of course. Speak of the very devil.
She took a long breath and swung from her hammock, landing lightly. Shoulders square, she yanked the door open.
Deciding she was ending whatever it was between them and facing the full force of Knighton Blackwood’s handsome face, crooked smile, and towering physique were two very different things.
Breath stuck in her throat, she backed away, letting him in. She hadn’t intended to let him over the threshold and yet …
Here he was, slipping in, one hand half-behind his back, the door closing after him. His presence was far too much for this cabin that was considerably smaller than her own, crowding the space with his body and clean scent. Crowding her mind, as well.
She backed away until she hit the wall, arms closed across her body.
Perhaps one last time wouldn’t hurt.
“Did you attend to all your business?” He smiled, raising his eyebrows. The hand behind his back shifted, too, revealing a brown paper parcel.
Oh gods, had he bought her a present? What? To soften the blow of his leaving? Was he planning to tell her now?
“Vee?” He took a step closer, now within arm’s reach.
“What?”
“You said you had –”
“Oh, yes, er, that. Right.” She cleared her throat, nodded. “All dealt with.”
If he thought he could come in here and break things off with a gift … What, did he think it best to catch her in private, so she could cry quietly into his arms? So she wouldn’t make a scene?
The corner of her mouth twitched at how bloody ridiculous an idea that was. He could tell her in front of the whole damn crew for all she cared – he’d get no response from her but a shrug and a nice while it lasted.
She’d save him the job. And the present.
Wild Hunt, what did he think she was, a debutant he’d deflowered who needed a pretty keepsake to salve her wounded heart?
Lifting her chin, she gave him a tight smile. “Look, Knigh, we need to –”
The door burst open. “Vice,” Perry said from the doorway, blinking at Knigh. “Ah, Blackwood, too … Er …” She peered past him to Vice, face screwing up. “Sorry to interrupt, I –”
“It’s your cabin.” Vice raised her eyebrows.
“Nothing to interrupt,” Knigh said, shuffling to the side, that parcel behind his back again.
Perry still hovered in the doorway. “Have you heard the news?”
Knigh’s brows rose. “News?”
“The Queen is dead.”
Vice’s mouth dropped open, a chill in her bones. The Queen …
A lifetime ago, little Avice had climbed an oak tree, avoiding preparations for the Queen’s arrival at her family estate. The lone red-haired woman walking through the grounds had spotted her, laughed at her avoidance of ‘the dull business going on indoors’. She’d asked the girl about her love of Drake and listened to how she’d rather be an explorer and adventurer like him than a lady forced to wear dresses and welcome the Queen. The lady had gifted the girl a pin – a drake like Ser Francis’s sigil – and told her that it had been given to her ancestor by the man himself. Then she’d left with a reminder that everyone had to do their duty eventually.
And when little Avice Ferrers had been caught and scrubbed clean, dressed and presented to the Queen, she’d found herself face to face with that new friend.
Now she was gone. And she’d never known Avice Ferrers was still alive and had always stayed loyal or that she’d even worn the jewelled drake pin every single day.
Vice frowned, heart squeezing even as she murmured the words, “Long live the Queen.” Knigh said it too, and they all bowed their heads.
“Well, I need to tell the rest of the crew.” Perry nodded with a sad smile and closed the door.
Queen Elizabeth V. No more Elizabeth IV.
“What’s that?” Knigh caught her hand, and she flinched.
“What?” She blinked, fingertips lifting from the pin where it was hidden under her collar.
His brow creased, staring at it. “That pin – where did you get it?”
Avice Ferrers. A stupid little girl. On one level, she knew she shouldn’t be annoyed. The Queen thought her young friend Avice had died three years ago and the Queen’s death was no more an abandonment of that girl than the winter was an abandonment by the sun. And yet …
Her heart squeezed again. Another friend, another ally gone, albeit one from years ago. The Queen was the whole reason she’d even met Evered – she’d invited them both to her Calan Mai celebrations, and he’d crowned Avice his May Queen.
One more tether to her old life snapped.
Heat prickled across her scalp and down her neck. Well, good riddance. Avice Ferrers deserved to be forgotten, fool that she was.
“I got it from a girl who died a long time ago,” she muttered, arms folding. Let him get a good look at the pin – maybe he recognised it after all these years.
She’d shown it to him one of those few times they’d met as children. In the face of his stand-offish arrogance, she’d been competitive, determ
ined to prove herself worth speaking to, not the useless lady he so clearly thought she was. After all, she had a token from the Queen herself.
She’d even said it with a little toss of her head. Idiot girl.
Ha, maybe he even wondered about his former betrothed. Lords, did he mourn her? Maybe he was the fool. He’d barely known the girl and the few times they’d met, she’d been quite mean to him. The last time they’d met, she’d challenged him to swim out to the island in the middle of their lake. When he’d refused, she’d gone without him and spent the day exploring it alone. He’d run back to his parents.
Why would he mourn such a foolish girl?
“Died …” His gaze fell away, and he gave a soft sigh.
Good, he believed it. No danger of anyone coming to look for her.
Eventually, he nodded, brow creased. “What happened to her?”
She clenched her jaw and lifted her chin. If he was that concerned about some long-dead girl who’d left him, then fine. She’d dissuade him of any such idiocy and get rid of him.
Two birds. One stone. Genius.
She tossed her head, so like that day she’d shown him the pin. “I killed her.”
Stay the Course
“I killed her.”
Knigh’s breath, his blood, the room stilled.
She stared at him, level, unruffled.
I killed her.
His chest squeezed as if his heart suddenly remembered how to work and heaved into life.
Vee – Vice had killed Lady Avice Ferrers. And she admitted it so calmly.
Her face was smooth, calm, just a slight rise of her eyebrows, challenging.
She had no sorrow, no remorse, no feeling of common decency at all.
Lady Avice had been a little childish, so sure of her own superiority compared to him, perhaps. But she’d also been vivacious, burning bright with excitement about the world. What was it she’d said when she’d dared him to swim across the lake with her? A verse from an old poem:
