Eternal Gambit

by St Clare, Kelly

  Locks cursed at him. “I mean, we ain’t dead. If Mutinous only wanted the parts o’ the root for the pillars, then he’d hardly be needin’ us. So why are we still alive?”

  That was a pretty good point.

  Caspian blurted, “You believe Mutinous has kept us alive for some other purpose?”

  “Aye,” her fathers chorused.

  Well, most of them. Again, she pushed down her frustration at Plank.

  Ebba frowned. From her fathers’ stories, she knew Cannon to be cunning and manipulative. Sink her, she’d glimpsed that herself with the shite he’d stirred between Jagger and Pockmark in the clearing before. And with the Caspian-and-crown nastiness.

  “What can he be cookin’?” she mused aloud.

  Why would he need them?

  She, Caspian, and Jagger were the three watchers who could assemble the weapon to destroy the pillars. Basic pirate logic would conclude that killing the three of them would secure the pillars’ power forever.

  “Do the pillars need to use us for sumpin’?” she asked.

  No one answered. Simply because none of them could possibly know.

  “Anythin’ to add, Plank?” Stubby called to the back of the cave.

  “Nay,” her father whispered after a beat.

  She felt the tight irritation of her other fathers at his lack of interest in their plight. Seeing any of her crew sad and despondent didn’t sit well with her. But the warning in her gut from Plank’s behavior had reached a whole new level. It was like he’d checked out of living. And that wasn’t allowed.

  Ever.

  “Okay, here’s what I be thinkin’,” Peg-leg said.

  Locks shot back, “Shite, ye’re thinkin’? Dangerous stuff that.”

  Ebba snorted with the others. How people got through tough spots without humor, she had no idea.

  Peg-leg growled. “Are ye done?”

  “. . . Aye,” Locks quipped.

  “We be sittin’ ducks until Cannon shows more o’ his hand. All we know is that he’s operatin’ on the pillars’ orders. And we know what they want—the root o’ magic. Mutinous has a plan to get the parts to them, and all we need to do is sit back, keep quiet, and figure out how he’s goin’ about that.”

  Which was sound logic.

  . . . But Ebba highly doubted their escape would be so easy.

  And she could say with near certainty that their escape would take more than sitting back and watching.

  Five

  Howling screams woke her.

  Ebba jerked upright, clutching at her face until remembering she was in a cave in hell. And then she continued clutching her face because that was what her nightmare had been about.

  But it wasn’t her fathers screaming. The sound came from outside the cave. The wind.

  She held her breath and listened for a few stuttering heartbeats, but her fathers and Caspian hadn’t stirred from slumber.

  Ebba blinked sleepily and hugged her knees to her chest. How much time had passed? Even on the uneven rock of her cave bed, she’d been dead to the world as soon as her eyes shut. But she was absolutely freezing in this silk shift. Perhaps that was what gave her nightmares.

  She had to move.

  Urging her cold limbs to obey, Ebba managed an awkward crouch and picked her way to the wide ledge outside so she could pace and get the grog in her veins moving. She could do with some grog, too. That and food. If Cannon didn’t plan on feeding them, their ‘wait and see’ escape plan wouldn’t be worth too much.

  Glancing up, she halted at the sight of Jagger still perched in the same spot, his legs dangling over the ledge.

  Her heart squeezed at the sight of him, and she had a near-overwhelming urge to seek comfort in his arms.

  As much as the revelation shocked her, Ebba couldn’t ignore what the amare had shown her. When the tube was touched to a person’s skin, their true feelings were confirmed. That meant that the amare hadn’t just shown her a love that could be. It meant that Ebba loved him already. The tube had shown her the exact depth of that feeling, too. Without him, her life would be less. With him by her side, she would be the best possible version of herself. They would fit as though designed for each other, neither of them as strong or as full without the other.

  And that pissed her off because that was too good to be true. Her fathers had hammered a few tips into her. One was that she should always start sixty percent up when selling something. The more pertinent advice was that if a thing sounded too good to be true, it was.

  The amare had gone on a massive bender, like Sally, and was broken.

  . . . Surely.

  What Ebba did trust was the attraction she felt for Jagger—a burning lust, just as she had encountered with Calypso—but without any of the fear. The challenge and promise in Jagger’s eyes enticed her in a way nothing else ever had. That was something she wanted to explore. But knowing what she did about loving him took all the exploration out of it.

  She already knew how the quest ended.

  Was that what made her most angry? That she hadn’t been allowed to fall in love at her own pace? And if that was what angered her, was that really Jagger’s fault?

  The amare’s revelation had felt so very real. Ebba had never experienced something so . . . breathtaking . . . so certain.

  And yet it just couldn’t be true.

  “Are ye goin’ to sit by me then? Or just breathe all hard-like?” Jagger’s voice washed over her like the first fresh whiff of the salt air.

  Ebba’s entire body tightened in response.

  Her voice was husky from disuse. “I’ll just be pacin’ a bit. I’m cold.”

  The bare-chested pirate twisted to look at her, tracing up her bare legs to her face. “I gave ye my tunic, where did it go?”

  “Took it off when I was savin’ Barrels and Peg-leg outside the Locker.”

  He quirked a brow at her, silver eyes dancing. “Well, I be warm enough for the both o’ us if ye’d care to join.”

  She glared at him, wanting to take the offer but held back by the amare weirdness. “Thanks,” she replied. “I’ll pace.”

  Their cave ledge was about ten strides from end to end. Ebba reached the southern end and spun, returning to the northern end of the ledge where the steps were situated. She passed by Jagger again.

  Peeking at him, she stumbled.

  He’d turned his back to her. Now closer, she saw that not one inch of the skin on his back was unmarred by abuse. Where his skin was usually a pale gold to match his straggly hair, the ropey scars on his back, from shoulder to hip, were faint white, thick, and raised. Licks had been his pirate name on Malice. Jagger told her months ago that he’d survived one hundred and fifty lashes. For the first time, Ebba saw the proof of what he’d suffered at Pockmark’s hands. She’d seen the front of Jagger’s chest plenty, but he’d always been so very careful not to display his back. To her, at least. He either walked where she couldn’t see the wounds or covered his back with a tunic or feathered cloak.

  Her breath took a while to come steady.

  Ebba collected herself and swallowed before walking toward the pirate. She sat on the black-and-crimson stone next to him, shivering.

  “How much time has passed?” she asked him.

  “I be thinkin’ it’s the next day,” he answered, stiffening. “Hard to tell without the sky, but it went dim for a bit. The wind howled through the entrance passage just afore, and then the cavern lightened a mite. I’m guessin’ it never gets truly dark, though damned if I know where the light comes from.”

  Jagger leaned back, and Ebba scooted closer to him, feeling the warmth emanating off his powerful frame. He really was warm. She inched closer. “How can ye stand to be near Pockmark when he did that to yer back?”

  Jagger didn’t shift his gaze from the passage platform at the south of the cavern. “Because he a’cidentally made me stronger by doin’ it.”

  Hugging herself, Ebba turned to look at him.

  He mirrored t
he movement. “It was during the first few months on the ship when I was too obvious-like with my quest to save my tribe. The lashes on my back were a lesson I took serious. And I’ve never made the same mistake. Pockmark taught me the cons’quence o’ not usin’ my head. I can be handlin’ the scars because I know Pockmark understands what he did. He might not’ve for a long time, maybe not until he landed up in this place. But now he knows I’m stronger than him. And that be enough for me.”

  And Jagger was just offering all that up because. . .? Ebba was confused.

  Normally, their conversations centered around one of them shouting about being king or queen of the crow’s nest. So why was he casually spilling his guts on a silver platter? Ebba thought back to the moment she’d passed him the amare on the rowboat. He’d had a strong reaction, but never told anyone what he felt. At least, he’d never said anything to her. Had that strong reaction triggered his change of heart?

  Had Jagger felt what she’d felt?

  Not knowing was agony.

  She shuffled closer so they were thigh-to-thigh. Galloping seahorses, he was like a hot drink. Sighing, Ebba leaned into his body. “Cannon pitted Pockmark against ye back at the shipwreck yest’rday, ye know.”

  “Aye. I ain’t sure what his angle be. If he be tryin’ to wear Pockmark down or if he’s ensurin’ it be harder for me to make a move.”

  “Last night, the crew decided to watch and wait,” Ebba told him.

  “I heard well enough. And I wasn’t agreein’ to anythin’.”

  She lowered her voice. “Truth be told, I ain’t sure waitin’ will work. I don’t see what we can do otherwise just yet, but I don’t feel we be havin’ the luxury o’ sittin’ back on this one.”

  Jagger cast her an amused look. “Goin’ against yer fathers, Viva? I didn’t think ye had the guts.”

  “I ain’t goin’ against them,” she retorted. “Whatever move I do or don’t make, it won’t be against them. They’ll know o’ it. Considerin’ what we’ve been through with ye, I’d be hopin’ ye’d lend the same courtesy to them.”

  “Aye, I can be alertin’ ye to anythin’ when I do it.” He searched her face and then lifted an arm, watching her as he wrapped it around her shoulders.

  She was in Jagger’s arms. And her stupid heart was on the fritz.

  The action didn’t distract her from the fact Jagger had just told a pirate truth. “Nay,” she said after a scant second to adjust to their new position. “That ain’t good enough. Ye need to discuss the matter with us ahead o’ time. With the entire crew.”

  Jagger scowled. “Who put ye in charge?”

  Ebba sniffed. “Don’t get snooty because ye’re used to workin’ alone. Yer actions affect all o’ us; it’s the least ye can do. We won’t be ruinin’ it.”

  “Not even Grubby?” he said, sliding a look at her.

  She choked on a laugh. “Aye, well, it’s usually a roll o’ the die with Grubs. Sometimes when he blurts out sumpin’, things work out, though.”

  “Just like ye.” Jagger grinned and looked out over Davy Jones’ again. She wrapped her arms around his torso and felt him peer down at her.

  “This is purely survival,” she told him.

  He snorted. “Sure it is, Viva. And walkin’ into hell be a trip to the beach.”

  She decided to take the high seas and ignore the pirate.

  They fell into silence, and Ebba’s body defrosted.

  “I can’t believe we be in the Locker,” she said, scanning the fiery cavern below.

  “It ain’t so bad, really, is it?” Jagger replied. “There be all the tainted pirates. We’ll need to be avoidin’ them. But with the stone as a safe point, it be better than some places I’ve ventured.”

  And by that, Ebba could glean he meant Malice. “Jagger, there be sumpin’ wrong with ye if ye be thinkin’ this place is okay.”

  The man beside her stilled.

  She could take a hint. Despite his candidness, Jagger wouldn’t be spilling his guts about everything. And it occurred to Ebba that the pirate might really believe what he’d said. Maybe the Locker seemed like a haven compared to two years on Malice. Then again, he’d spent time on Felicity and with his tribe on Neos, so he knew there was better. He remembered how all that felt, didn’t he?

  “Ye know ye deserve better than this, aye?” she asked him.

  “Do I?” he said. “I be tainted. My tribe might be dead and gone. I haven’t even avenged my parents.”

  She wasn’t going there with the last part because avenging his parents meant killing Caspian. “Ye did everythin’ ye could for yer tribe. Ye killed Ladon for them. They can’t be askin’ more o’ ye than that. At some point, people have to help themselves. Why do ye take such a burden on yer shoulders?”

  “Because only I could save them, and only I could kill them,” he said after a beat. “If I didn’t mind my actions, they would die. That was how Pockmark kept me docile.”

  She untangled herself and scanned his high-boned features and silver eyes, which had darkened to pistol metal.

  “I hated the burden of bein’ respons’ble for my family’s lives,” he said softly.

  Jagger watched her as he spoke the words, and though he hadn’t asked a question, Ebba got the sense her answer mattered to him very much.

  She pursed her lips. “I can understand that. It be natural for a person to begrudge the chains on their freedom. And the chains ye wore for two years were heavy ones. It don’t mean that ye don’t care for yer family.”

  Jagger closed his eyes at her reply. A small smile curved his full lips. Just for an instant before he smoothed his features, masking his emotions again.

  Her gut was flipping like a bloody dolphin on brandy. She had to say something about the amare. It was killing her. In the past, there were times she’d been certain she loathed Jagger with the force of a thousand currents. But there were things about him, unexplored depths—like his unfaltering loyalty to his tribe—that had always made him somewhat of an enigma to her. That depth had scared her for a long time. It was only when veritas confirmed she could trust Jagger that she’d opened herself emotionally to the pirate.

  If a man like him ever loved her, his love would be infinite.

  Ebba sucked in a breath that made her gut explode with nerves . . . and something other than anger.

  “So,” she said, easing into the subject, “what did ye feel when I touched ye with the amare that time? Anythin’?”

  He grinned again.

  Jagger peered down at her lips. “Why do ye ask, Viva?”

  His deep silken voice made her entire body coil. She shifted her gaze away from his. “Just passin’ time.”

  Ebba peeked back up through her lashes.

  “Mmm,” he said, scanning her face again. “I be an immune, as ye know. I have to be holdin’ the tubes for some time for them to work on me.”

  Drat, she’d blasted forgotten about that. Ebba gripped the ledge with both hands, huffing. Then she recalled his face when she touched him with the amare. “That’s bullshite. Ye felt sumpin’. I know it.”

  “Ye seem put out, Viva. What was it that ye felt with it?” Jagger said, his voice low.

  She turned back to him and inhaled sharply as their mouths nearly met. Sea salt and rope assailed her. His silver eyes were all she could see. The world around them disappeared. Longing swept through her with the cloying heat of a thousand hells.

  “Viva?”

  “Viva. What?” Ebba said thickly. She winced. “I mean, nothin’. That I hate ye, that is.”

  She shrugged off his arm and shuffled away to put distance between them.

  “Which is it then?” Jagger rumbled, his eyes liquid pewter. “Because I can’t do much about nothin’, but I can work with hate.”

  What did that mean?

  She searched the angled planes of his face as he closed the gap. Only the width of a few fingers separated them.

  Agony. Fire.

  Ebba licked her lips as his
gaze dropped to them again.

  She said hoarsely, “What does this mean?”

  Jagger pushed closer until a mere whisper separated their lips. Ebba’s breathers stopped working altogether. Who needed to breathe when they could feel this? Her body tightened again. She’d never experienced such delicious, heart-pounding anticipation.

  Ebba’s eyes were wide on his.

  She knew what happened next. But knowing and doing seemed as different as flying and swimming. With one, they could pretend the amare meant nothing. With the other, it felt like they’d have to accept everything the tube had to say.

  Jagger whispered, his gaze touching the deepest parts of her. “Hate it is.”

  Six

  Jagger stood, striding into the cave without a backward glance.

  Ebba sat staring at the space where he’d sat. They’d been about to kiss. She was sure of it. One second before, that was where they were going. The next, not.

  She gaped at the empty air before shutting her gob. Scrambling to collect herself, she cast her gaze out over the fiery cavern.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her?

  And what did he mean, ‘Hate it is’? Did Jagger mean that he was going to work with it? And what did that mean?

  Ebba groaned and put her face in her hands. She’d just sat there like a codfish. She might die of the shame. Was he having a good laugh now?

  The amare must have given Jagger a completely different feeling. Or maybe he really hadn’t felt anything because of his resistance to magic. Where did that leave her? Did that mean he didn’t feel anything for her?

  She wanted this thing figured out. It was like a speck in her head she couldn’t get rid of, a scratch she couldn’t itch.

  That was the problem. Jagger was a disease. That was probably how she should think of him. Then there’d be no repeats of the almost-kiss and cryptic comments. And, she recalled with a second groan, kissing Jagger would have hurt Caspian. Ebba had told herself things with Jagger wouldn’t go further until she spoke to the prince and cleared up the situation between them.

  Her cheeks heated. As soon as Jagger had gotten into her personal space, she’d forgotten all about her friend. How was that possible? She had to do better next time.