Eternal Gambit

by St Clare, Kelly

  Ebba closed her eyes against the pain in his voice. A pirate truth balanced on the tip of her tongue. She could scoff at his claim of love and downplay what she’d felt, but Ebba bit back the lie. Her friend deserved more than that. He’d been with her right from the start in Governor Da Ville’s mansion.

  “All I know is that I do feel a deeper regard for him. And that it is likely real.”

  Caspian scowled, and Ebba’s breath seized in her throat at the dark look. Her heart sank as she came to understand just how fierce the prince’s regard for her was. In his expression, Ebba could see that if she handled this wrong, he could very well come to hate her. She was too selfish to let that happen.

  He watched her. “But . . . you can’t know what powers the amare has. We haven’t fully explored it. And you know Jagger. He plays games. He can’t be trusted.”

  The words held a speck of truth, and doubt churned within her. She’d wondered herself if the amare was glitching somehow. Was he right? Had she misinterpreted everything? Yet a simmering anger sparked within her at the prince’s accusations too. Ebba exhaled steadily to release her irritation. “Ye know that Jagger be used to workin’ on his own to protect his tribe. Surely ye can understand why he’s secr’tive. At least in part.” Caspian might not know about the scars on the pirate’s back, but he did know the rest.

  “And now you’re defending him. You must be in love with him,” he said bitterly.

  Heat crept up her neck. Caspian was lashing out. The prince was usually the voice of reason, and if he couldn’t be that right now, Ebba would have to put on her big pirate slops.

  Rising, she said, “I’ll be leavin’ ye to mull that over, methinks. Mayhaps ye’re right about the amare. I ain’t sure if what I’m feelin’ be the truth. But if that’s what regard is s’posed to feel like, Caspian, then I be sorry to say it ain’t what I feel for ye. And Jagger has nothin’ to do with that. I regret that there couldn’t’ be more between us, I do, but that seems like the way it is.”

  He didn’t utter a word.

  Ebba shoved away the urge to hug Caspian and tell him she’d try again. With a heavy heart, she said, “I hope we can still be friends.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible,” he muttered, only his shadowed profile in view. “At least not for a while.”

  A lump rose up her throat. “Fair enough,” she whispered hoarsely.

  That was it then.

  Ebba turned and froze when Caspian caught her hand.

  “Ebba,” he said, voice low and urgent. “Just, don’t rush into anything. As you say, you haven’t touched the amare before. You don’t know if it works. Just, please don’t pursue this thing with Jagger until you’re sure. I don’t want him to take advantage of you.”

  The amare had inspired motherly love in the Jendu. It had inspired friendly love in Barrels for Locks and sisterly love in Caspian with regards to the princesses. With all of them, it drew out their true feelings, so why would the tube mess up when it came to Ebba?

  “I’ll have my wits about me,” she replied, freeing her hand.

  His eyes flickered to her face and then away as he dropped his arm. “Ebba, I’m feeling rather sorry for myself at the minute, so I’ll ask you this only once, and I want you to be completely honest with me.”

  Her heart hammered faster. Soon it would beat right out of her chest, she was sure. “Aye?”

  Caspian murmured something so softly she missed it.

  “Huh?” Ebba pressed.

  The prince closed his eyes. “Is it because I only have one arm to hold you with? One arm to protect and love you with? Is it because I’ll always be a fumbling fool?”

  Horror struck her dumb. The silence extended long enough that Caspian had opened his eyes and turned to her.

  “Nay,” she said on an exhale, stepping toward him—uncertain whether she should make contact. “Nay. A thousand times nay. Please, never think that. Ye know that ain’t how I see ye. I never have and never will.”

  He shrugged his shoulder. “And yet that is exactly what a person would be pressured to reply.”

  “Or is it what ye want them to say because ye think it yerself?” Ebba said fiercely, a jolt of triumph striking her as he started.

  She continued, her cheeks burning with temper now. “By yer logic, I’d think less o’ Peg-leg for only havin’ one leg. Or less o’ Locks for only havin’ one eye. Or Grubby for havin’ half a mind. Is that what ye’re sayin?”

  Caspian held her gaze. He was angry; she could see it. His soft amber eyes now held the same serrated edge as Ebba had associated with his father, King Montcroix. Would she be the person to unleash that in the kindest, most empathetic person she’d ever known? Would he let things come to that?

  “No,” he said finally, turning away again. “I don’t.”

  “Then why do ye think I would think less o’ ye for the trials ye’ve been through? If anythin’, I think more o’ ye for them. I look at ye and see someone who understands hardship. And someone who has found the strength to go on. That makes ye a rarity.”

  His words were dark. “And all of that I would erase if only you would love me in return. Yet how could I ask you to love me when I do not even love myself? A son who dreams of more and a prince without an arm to protect his people. An exiled king, forced to wear a crown and crawl.” He reached up and made to drag the golden circlet from his head.

  Ebba stayed her friend’s hand. “Nay, don’t take the crown off. The joke be on Cannon and his cronies, recall? The only way that circlet be comin’ off yer head is if Cannon orders ye to crawl to his feet and remove it. And ye’ll do it if he asked because ye know a crown don’t make a king as surely as two arms aren’t makin’ a man. And if sumpin’ like a little crown can be undoin’ ye, mayhaps some practice at lovin’ yerself wouldn’t go astray.”

  The sounds of Caspian’s choked breath undid the last of her restraint, and Ebba squeezed her eyes shut as a few hot tears spilled over her cheeks.

  Removing her fingers from the circlet, she stood back and watched Caspian’s shaking shoulders before turning for the cave with dragging steps.

  She’d made a right mess of everything.

  Nine

  Eyes blurring, Ebba edged into the cave, hands outstretched in the darkness. The black was a welcome relief to hide her distress after the conversation with Caspian.

  A calloused hand reached out and gripped her elbow, steadying her a few feet into the cave.

  She glanced up into silver eyes.

  “Are ye all right?” Jagger asked quietly.

  Ebba sniffed. “Aye.”

  Pulling her elbow free, she continued into the cave, dashing away her tears as she did so.

  “So we get veritas for an hour, lass?”

  She tilted her head to the sound of Locks’ voice, her chest relaxing. They weren’t going to have a chat with her about Caspian. Good. Ebba wasn’t sure she could do that.

  “Aye,” she said, clearing her throat. “He just said soon, so I ain’t sure when we’ll have it. We get an hour to look at everythin’ we want. No more. I was thinkin’ the sword might give us some clue about what’s happenin’.”

  Peg-leg sighed heavily from the opposite side. “It’s a good plan. I can’t be makin’ head nor tail o’ his game. May as well try the sword.”

  “And you said that Cannon mentioned the people here regenerate in twelve hours if killed?” Barrels asked.

  There was movement behind her. “If I were him, I’d lie about that,” Jagger said.

  How close was he? Awareness filled her at his warm proximity. Ebba tensed and bent down, locating a rock to perch on to get away from Jagger’s intensity.

  Jagger continued. “I’d tell ye more time than was true, in case ye tried to use the knowledge against me.”

  “A lovely insight into your mind,” Barrels replied drily. “But in this case, I must say I agree. Was there anything else, my dear?”

  Ebba wouldn’t share the part about Canno
n chucking them over to the other side. “He went on for a bit about not likin’ ye. He said ye’d trapped him here for two decades.”

  “Trapped him here? Nay, we didn’t. King Forge was the one to kill him,” Stubby mused from the very back of the cave. “But that makes it seem like he means to get out. . . .”

  “Aye, he was talkin’ about bein’ a pirate meant to sail the seas,” Ebba repeated as more of the conversation came back to her. “And he kept lookin’ up to the passage, but now I’m wonderin’ if he was just waitin’ for those pirates to return from the entrance.”

  “And why they were there be a mystery,” Stubby said.

  “I can’t blame them for wantin’ to get out,” Grubby said. “It ain’t that nice in here. No place to swim.”

  Ebba smiled. They were quite literally in hell, and Grubby was only irked about the lack of a swimming pool. “I love ye, Grubs.”

  “I love ye, too, Ebba. . . . Was it ye that said that?”

  Stubby snorted. “Her voice be a smidge higher than the rest o’ us, matey.”

  “Nay, sometimes Peg-leg sounds like that, too,” Grubby countered. “And Locks when he’s talkin’ to Verity.”

  Ebba laughed with the others but checked the sound, realizing Caspian was still outside and wouldn’t know what to make of it.

  “Plank,” Stubby said. “What do ye think o’ everythin’?”

  Suddenly, she didn’t need to check her laughter. It was just gone. Everyone listened for his reply.

  “I be thinkin’ the same as the rest o’ ye,” he rasped.

  Peg-leg’s reply was sarcastic. “Oh good, matey. Good. A solid ad’ition to the talk at hand.”

  “What would ye like me to say?” Plank snapped.

  “Seven heads are better than one,” Locks replied. “Jagger’s, too, I s’pose.”

  Really? Because his tone implied that Jagger’s head could be rolling and it wouldn’t matter. Ebba winced. They’d definitely seen as much as Caspian, and she knew better than to believe they’d let things lie. Perhaps she should warn Jagger.

  Plank shuffled, and she stared at the back of the cave, willing herself the ability to see in the dark.

  “I don’t know what to make o’ anythin’,” Plank eventually said.

  Ebba couldn’t take it anymore. “Just this sit’ation or more?” she demanded.

  “Ebba. . . ,” Barrels warned.

  “More, little nymph. Defin’tely more.” Plank stood and shuffled in the dark, drawing closer. When he made to pass her by, Ebba gripped his hand, stopping him. “I love ye, Plank.”

  “I love ye, too, little nymph. Never doubt it.”

  His words had the opposite effect. “But I do. Why are ye so sad after Felicity?”

  One of her fathers sucked in a breath.

  Plank tried to tug free, but Ebba held tight, digging her black nails into his skin. “Tell me. I don’t understand why ye’re bein’ like this, bein’ so withdrawn and broodin’. Please tell me why.”

  His hand relaxed in her grip.

  Ebba swallowed as Plank knelt before the rock she perched upon, bringing his face closer until she could see the gleam of his hazel eyes and the shadowed planes of his face.

  “Ye want to know?” he asked her, breath ragged.

  “Plank, ye be keepin’ yer head now,” Peg-leg said. “It ain’t Ebba who was doin’ the deed all those years ago, so don’t take out yer anger on her.”

  Ebba stared into her father’s eyes. “This be about your wife. Cannon killed her.”

  Ladon had said as much when they met him on Neos Mountain. That Plank had been married was complete news to her at the time. That he’d carried so much heartache in silence her entire life had caused her to doubt if she even knew him. With Plank, there was something special. They’d always been the sole occupants of the ship who’d entertained the thought of magic. And they’d shared a love of clothing and trinkets. At least, Ebba thought the interest was shared. He was a dreamer, intelligent and discerning.

  She relied on all of her fathers in different ways and liked to think that they relied on her, too. They all depended on each other. Without one part, the pyramid would crumble, and that was what she felt now. That the pyramid was crumbling without Plank—like a ship without a rudder. Ebba had no idea how to reach her father, yet she had to reach him and bring him back. To do that, she had to understand.

  “Tell me,” she told him, not releasing his hand.

  She winced at his brash tone when he did. “I had a wife once. A beautiful, kind, wise woman who agreed to be mine.”

  Plank pulled his hand free but didn’t stand. “I took her for granted, drawn by dreams and riches to the sea. Cannon threatened her life to keep me on the ship, to do his biddin’. At least at first. Ye likely know that afore long, I needed less and less encourag’ment to stay. But unlike yer fathers, barrin’ Locks perhaps, I always remembered my wife. The feel o’ her, the smell o’ her hair, the sound o’ her laughter. Even tainted, she was with me. And where was I?” he said harshly.

  “Ye were savin’ her life by stayin’ put,” Ebba said. “Just like Jagger did to save his tribe.”

  Plank continued. “And then we took ye from Pleo. I was the first to fall in love with ye, little nymph. Only because I could already remember what it felt like to love another with yer heart and soul. We ran with ye, the plan bein’ to get ye to safety afore I went to collect my wife, if she hadn’t moved on with another.”

  Ebba knew she’d died, and her gut warned that she didn’t want to hear the rest.

  “Dead,” he said flatly. “I’ll spare ye the details, but murder wasn’t the only wrong done that night.” Plank stood abruptly.

  Ebba gathered her courage to continue. “And ye’ve carried the guilt o’ that with ye all these years.”

  “Guilt,” he said as though tasting the word. “Guilt, aye. Regret, aye. But that be nothin’ on what I recall, little nymph.”

  Ebba knew nothing good would come of asking, but she did. “What can ye recall?”

  “The feel o’ her. The sm—” He broke off. “The smell o’ her hair.” In the dark, she watched her father clutching his chest, the area over his heart. “The sound o’ her—"

  “The sound o’ her laughter?” she finished for him in a whisper.

  Plank didn’t respond. Still clutching his chest, he staggered out of the cave onto the ledge.

  She waited until he sat down outside before curling her hands into tight fists that longed to hurt, to beat, to sink into flesh. “I’m goin’ to kill Mutinous Cannon.”

  There was a tap, tap, tap as Peg-leg made his way to her. He gripped her shoulder. “Ye’ll need to get in line, I’m afraid.”

  True. Whatever anger she might feel, the wrongs had been dealt to her fathers. They were the ones who had to bear the suffering over decades. The justice was theirs first. If they ever got the chance.

  “Will he be okay?” she asked in a small voice.

  Locks answered, “Truthfully, lass, we’ve only seen him this bad once—when we first found her . . . remains.”

  “But he got better in the end,” she said, straightening on the stone. “He can do it. How did ye manage it when I was young?”

  “Ye needed us then,” Stubby said.

  Ebba crossed her arms, very close to tears again. “I need ye all now.”

  Barrels broke the silence. “We negotiated a deal of sorts with him.”

  “What was the deal?” Jagger said, making her jump.

  She glanced at the pirate but could only make out his outline in the dim light. He’d heard everything, but it didn’t occur to her to be ashamed. He’d seen her in worse states by now.

  “Well,” Barrels said mildly, “we extracted a promise from him. As long as the ship was sea-worthy, he would sail her. If we were attacked and the ship sank, then likely as not we’d all be killed anyway. And if not, the ship was fresh enough to last several decades, during which time he’d be accustomed to life without his wi
fe.”

  But the ship did sink, and they’d survived. And two decades after the death of Plank’s wife, he hadn’t grown accustomed to life without her. Ebba was willing to bet he’d merely spent her lifetime daydreaming of his deceased wife.

  “What was her name?” she whispered.

  Though none of them could ever be sure how much Grubby took in and what he missed, he replied straightaway. “Her name was Felicity.”

  Felicity like their ship? With six fathers, she’d always thought of the ship as her mother. Her mouth dried. If Plank had still had his wife, Ebba would have known what having a mother was like. That was why he’d agreed to the deal? Her fathers named their ship after the real Felicity.

  They’d manipulated his guilt to make him form an agreement and stay with the living.

  None of her crew spoke, and as the quiet weighed down heavier with each breath, Plank’s weary voice trailed in from outside the cave.

  It was the ballad he always hummed while daydreaming, the melancholy melody without words. Except this time, there were words.

  Plank sang:

  From the sandy shores she sang unto me,

  youthful as fall,

  as lovely as spring.

  She sang as I sailed off for ambition and gold,

  “I will wait.

  Just return to me.”

  Each year that passed on the harsh sea

  her face grew lovelier,

  her smile a plunderer’s dream.

  She sang each time I sailed away,

  “I will wait.

  Just return to me.”

  Hints of gray streaked her hair; faint lines graced her face.

  Such a lovely sight

  I could never replace.

  She sang unto me, voice as soft as a breeze,

  “I will wait.

  Just return to me.”

  One woeful eve, I did return,

  ambition long cold, soul twisted and raw.

  The sandy shore lay empty;

  No loveliness brightened its shore.

  No beauty sang,