“Uh,” Barrels said. “Considering the swear jar is at the bottom of the sea and you don’t have any coin, I’d say we just start another . . . down the track.”
“I said it wouldn’t stop her learnin’ the good words,” Stubby said loudly. “And I was—”
Peg-leg turned back from where he’d checked the ropes holding Grubby to the vessel. “If ye say ye’re right, I’ll shove the veritas down yer throat so ye talk truth for once.”
She tried to ignore Jagger, who had sat next to her and regarded her without expression. Her cheeks burned at his steadfast perusal. She’d taken the liberty of feeling him up while under Calypso’s thrall, and yet . . . though Jagger’s eyes often glinted with intense challenge and daring, she didn’t feel any shame or fear over touching him—except for not knowing if he’d wanted it or not. Not like when she’d touched the immortal back at the rocks.
Jagger’s challenge enticed in a thrilling way. Touching him hadn’t been a twisted, ugly thing.
Ebba was just surprised her fathers hadn’t tossed him into the Dynami Sea.
“Sorry,” she muttered at Jagger.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he said low in her ear so the others couldn’t hear. “Ye were under his power. I know that.”
He wasn’t going to tease her? That was surprisingly nice. Ebba lifted a hand to her head as it began to ache. That was the thing: she didn’t feel ashamed. Not at all. In fact, while touching Jagger—though her urges were augmented by magic—she’d felt alive; burningly attracted to the flaxen-haired pirate beside her.
That was a problem for a whole other reason that sat on the opposite side of the boat.
She peeked at Caspian, who hadn’t said a word. Her furtive gaze bounced off his hard, accusing amber stare.
Flinching, Ebba’s mouth dried as the prince glanced away to look out over the ocean. Usually, he became jealous over Jagger’s shite-stirring antics. When that happened, she felt awkward, but not guilty. This time she was certainly in the wrong. Kind of. Calypso started it, but she’d enjoyed the feeling when it transitioned to Jagger. That felt like a betrayal of sorts.
Ebba sighed heavily, dropping her hand. She’d have to talk to him. And that wasn’t a conversation that could happen in a rowboat filled with nine people. Even if one of those people was tied to the side of the vessel.
Shaking her head, she looked to where Grubby’s head of hair was just visible. “Any change with Grubs?”
“The wound on his head be closin’,” Peg-leg replied, patting Grubby gently on the shoulder. “And his color be better. I say we let him stew until he wakes.”
Locks peered past her at the sword. “Ye know, Peg-leg, maybe that ain’t a bad idea.”
“Stew never be a bad idea,” Peg-leg said with a smile. “Good for the soul.”
“Not the bloody stew—the sword-down-Stubby’s-throat part.”
Stubby’s jaw dropped.
“Not shovin’ it down yer throat as such,” Locks amended. “But for ye to hold it.”
“How about ye hold it?” Stubby countered, an evil glint in his eye.
“I will.” Matey lifted the tip of a tentacle.
“Locks be havin’ a point, though,” Ebba said, ignoring the kraken. “I’ve touched the sword. It wasn’t that bad. Just confirmed that. . . .” Blast it! “T-that Jagger be trustworthy.”
The pirate jerked, and she cleared her throat, refusing to meet his gaze. Her stomach erupted in drunken sprites as his eyes bore into the side of her face.
“Mayhaps we should all touch it. I’m thinkin’ there ain’t nothin’ about truth to be feared. It shows ye lies and truth too. That’ll be handy-like.” She tensed, waiting for their laughter. When it didn’t come, Ebba peeked up through her lashes.
More than one of her fathers had paled.
“Go on then,” Locks said. The words were so quiet, Ebba wondered if he’d intended them to hear.
“Really?” she asked, stumped.
“Go on, afore I change my mind.”
Ebba licked her lips, stomach twisting as she reached for the sword. What if Locks didn’t see what he needed in order to keep being happy? Ebba was completely certain of their hearts and souls. They were good people, mostly, and the best fathers she could ask for even with the mistakes they’d made. But the truth surely wasn’t affected by the love she held for them. It wouldn’t dress anything up. There hadn’t been any grays when she’d held veritas, just shadows and that shiny glow, and that worried her. If there was a word for her fathers’ moral compasses, gray would be it.
She picked up the sword, her mind on her fathers.
Ebba looked at them and gasped. Deep within each of her fathers in the rowboat was a swirling cloud of shadow. The ugly black lingered in the middle of their chests, disturbing the otherwise radiant glow around their bodies.
The taint. It had to be. There wasn’t any shadow inside Caspian.
Aside from the purgium, there was no way to be rid of the taint. But if they touched the purgium, they’d die. Ebba suspected Grubby had just scraped through because of his selkie blood. Was hoping her fathers could be healed a fool’s game?
Was she stupid for believing Jagger’s immunity might mean her parents would one day be happy and whole?
The answer to both questions was a resounding no. When it came to her fathers, Ebba wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t stupid.
They would be happy again. Ebba knew it in her gut.
An image flashed in her mind. She closed her eyes, swept away by the shimmering image. In the image, Locks was smiling, the truth sword grasped in his hands. Ebba watched as the darkness within the future version of her father lessened, some of the ugly shadow within him washed away as though doused by a bucket of water.
Opening her eyes, Ebba held out veritas to her father, a joyful smile upon her lips. She nodded at him. “It’s goin’ to be all right, matey. I just saw. Ye’ll be fine just like I knew ye would.”
Knowing the truth loosened the taint’s grip on a person—it didn’t just help them differentiate truth from lie. If Jagger’s attachment to the sword was any indication, it worked on others, too, not just her fathers.
Locks stared at the sword, chest heaving. He lifted his gaze to her and studied her smile. Then he swallowed, reaching out to grip the weapon.
His back arched slightly, and he gasped in what sounded like pain, resting a hand on the side of the boat.
Her father didn’t move from the spot after. Was that a good sign? His expression slowly cleared of the pained wince. That . . . seemed okay?
Folding her arms, Ebba left Locks to whatever his truth was and looked at Stubby. “Are ye goin’ to touch the sword then?”
“What?” Stubby asked. “Is this a thing now? I thought it were just Locks.”
As slippery as a sodding eel.
Ebba studied the occupants of the boat. “Caspian and Jagger have touched it. And me and Locks. That be near-on half.”
“Four-ninths, my dear.”
She rolled her eyes at Barrels’ numbers. “Aye, but I think ye should all do it. When I hold the sword and look at ye all, I can see a shadow swirlin’ about in yer chests. I’m thinkin’ it be the taint. And just now, when Locks touched the sword, the shadows inside o’ him lessened. If the shadows be the taint, then knowin’ the truth helps lessen it.”
Silence reigned.
“Ye can see the taint inside o’ us?” Peg-leg asked.
“I ain’t sure if it really is the taint or not.”
“It is,” Jagger interrupted.
Ebba turned to him. “Ye knew?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t ye tell us?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Jagger glanced at her. “I didn’t want to upset ye. I wasn’t aware truth lessened the taint and thought there was naught to be done about it. Tellin’ ye seemed cruel.”
Her anger faded. When the flaxen-haired pirate said things like that, it confused her. Greatly. And warmed her. Which a
dded to her confusion.
Stubby scratched his chin. “But haven’t ye looked at yerself, Jagger?”
When Jagger looked at her father, Ebba sagged.
She studied the smoldering heat that had just erupted within her while looking at Jagger. Damn Calypso. Now she was far more aware of men’s bodies and how they could make her feel. She hadn’t felt lingering lust after the second encounter with the immortal, not like last time when Ebba actually touched him. Seeing as they were away from the immortal’s lusty magic, she realized apparently the attraction she felt for Jagger was real.
Ebba was far too aware of the pirate’s body for the tight confines of this vessel.
“The sword takes longer to work with me,” Jagger said. “Bein’ the immune, I guess. It can take a few minutes focusin’ on one thing to see the truth and lie o’ it. It ain’t instant like with the rest o’ ye. And I never saw any shadow in myself. I don’t think that part works for me.”
“Or ye’re rid o’ the taint,” Peg-leg countered.
Jagger’s face darkened. “Nay, I’d feel di’ferent if that’d happened.”
But he was acting differently. Couldn’t he see that?
“If I do touch the sword, I don’t want to be rushed,” Stubby said, lifting his hands in front of him.
“The taint within ye could lessen, though.” Ebba desperately wanted her fathers to be happy. If the sword helped, they needed to touch it.
“I will,” he said, fidgeting. “Just not right now.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Wimp.”
“Good try, lass,” he replied. “I ain’t takin’ the bait.”
Ebba smiled slightly, covering her disappointment at his reply. Just because she’d been ready to touch the sword, it didn’t mean others were.
“I might do it,” Peg-leg said, head tilted as he watched Locks, who still held the veritas. “He seems okay. I thought it might kill us if we touched it.”
And he’d let Locks touch it?
“I have to say, that concerned me too,” Barrels said, speaking over her. “But Locks has lied a great deal more than I. If he’s still alive, the rest of us should live too.”
Jagger spoke. “That ain’t how it works. It just shows ye the truth ye ask.”
“It showed me a future truth just afore, though. Does it do that for ye?” Ebba asked him.
He furrowed his brows. “I’m usually focused on the here and now.”
“What about you?” she asked the prince.
Caspian didn’t look away from the ocean as he replied, “I’m mostly focused on the past. But seeing the truth in the past or future is likely limited by our experiences, too. I tried to see my father before I was born.” The prince glanced at Jagger. “But could not. Yet I was taken to a moment I never witnessed when I thought of my mother’s love.”
“So ye can’t navigate the sword for a truth ye don’t know?” Plank asked.
Ebba stared at him, wondering if he’d touch the sword.
“Not that I could tell,” Caspian said. “I set my mind on our predicament to figure out how Ebba and I fit into this. The sword merely showed me the tubes we’d collected, giving them the truthful shine.”
Maybe Ebba should give that a go and check if it worked. They needed all the answers they could get. “Then why’d it show me the taint within Locks gettin’ smaller? I hadn’t seen that. And ye hadn’t seen that moment ye mentioned o’ yer mother.”
The prince finally turned to look at her.
She braced herself, but his expression was smooth . . . and cold.
“You were certain of the outcome already,” he said. “It’s the only connection I can find between me seeing the new memory of my mother and Ebba seeing Locks in the future. Barrels?”
Her father pursed his lips. “Ebba knew Locks would feel better for holding veritas. And you were certain of your mother’s love. Perhaps.”
“In which case, the veritas is able to show truth or lie in the present, to show you the truth of a moment you’ve witnessed, and to confirm a truth you already know in the past or future,” Caspian said.
From her experiences with the sword, that added up.
“Ye saw the taint in me gettin’ smaller?” Locks asked her. He sat straight, his eyes wide.
“Aye,” she said, nodding. “The ball o’ shadow in ye shrunk for knowin’ the truth.” That’s how she’d interpreted it, anyway.
“Huh, I felt that,” Locks grunted. Slowly, a beaming smile spread across his face.
Peg-leg knocked his leg with his peg. “Well, don’t hold out, ye codfish. What’d it show ye?”
Locks glanced knowingly at Jagger and Caspian and then at her. Ebba bit back on her laughter, returning the arched, secretive look.
“Ye’re jokin’” Stubby said. “Ye ain’t goin’ to tell us?”
“Perhaps only the brave be deservin’ to see the truth,” Locks said sagely.
She threw a grin at the prince whose stony expression melted into a tight semblance of his usual smile.
“Tell us,” Barrels demanded.
“Nay,” Locks said. “Grow a pair and hold the sword for yerself.”
Peg-leg groaned. “Oh, go on then.”
Locks snickered and grabbed the blade tip to extend veritas back to the cook.
“Shite, okay.” Peg-leg ran his fingers over his bald head and then snaked out a hand to grip the hilt. “What did ye see?”
Locks, holding the blade of veritas, was forced to answer truthfully. He blurted, “Verity loves me.”
Everyone groaned.
Peg-leg smirked and removed the sword from Locks’ hands. He grunted and doubled over as the sword’s power overtook him.
They watched him for a time, and then Plank began to laugh.
The hard sound sent a chill down her spine and everyone but Peg-leg turned to him.
“Love,” Plank spat at Locks, his mouth twisted. “Ye don’t know what love is.”
What? She reared back. Where had that come from?
Locks appeared as nonplussed as the rest of them.
Jagger nudged her foot and tilted his head. Ebba followed the direction to where Plank clutched the amare to his chest with both hands. She caught Stubby’s attention and dropped her gaze to the tube.
“Matey,” Stubby said to Plank. “Pass the amare over to . . . Locks.”
Plank huddled tighter around the part. “Why?’
“I ain’t thinkin’ the love piece be healthy for ye,” Stubby said, adding, “And there be seven o’ us here to make sure ye do as I’ve asked. Or . . . can ye not let go o’ it?”
“O’ course I can,” Plank withered.
They waited.
His grip on the amare loosened in increments, and eventually he extended the tube to Locks.
In the wake, Plank hunched over again, bowing his head to gaze out at sea.
Barrels said, “I don’t think anyone should hold the amare for too long.”
She murmured her false agreement. The amare hadn’t affected her like that, but she’d keep an eye on Locks anyway.
“Aye,” Locks said, staring at the pointed tube in his hand. “We’ll keep switchin’ it around. Thorns o’ a puffer fish, I truly love Verity more than life itself.”
“Here we go,” muttered Barrels.
“But that’s interestin’,” Jagger countered, a wrinkle between his brows. “So when a person holds the amare and thinks o’ someone they love, their love be confirmed.” He trailed off, staring at his hands.
“And when I held the amare to the Jendu’s skin, it was influencin’ their feelings for me,” Ebba added.
Barrels hummed. “Does it do that for everyone?”
Without preamble, Locks leaned over and pressed the amare to Barrels’ bare arm.
A wide grin broke out across her eldest father’s face. He leaned over and hugged Locks tight. “I’m so glad to have a friend like you.”
Locks snickered and hugged him right back. “Right back at ye, m’hearty
.” He pulled back. “Aye, it works all right. I didn’t feel any di’ferent, though.”
Barrels glared at him, leaning away.
Stubby whistled. “So the amare only works on the person it touches, not the person holding the tube.”
“I didn’t feel love, though,” Barrels said, shaking his head. “I felt intense friendship.”
Ebba thought back to the Jendu. “What if it reveals what ye feel for a person? It showed Barrels the love friends share. With the Jendu, it showed motherly love? I bet if Locks touched it on me, I’d feel love for him as my father and parent. Caspian would feel brotherly love for his sisters.”
“Pass it here?” Caspian called.
Locks passed the tube back.
The prince held it for only a second. “Yes, Ebba’s right. This part shows you how you feel.”
Interesting. She wouldn’t mind a private moment with the amare when they got off this sodding boat. Ebba scanned the vessel and stilled.
She couldn’t see Grubby’s hair over the side.
“Check Grubby!” she said, half-rising.
Stubby peered overboard. “Sink me,” he gasped, jerking back.
“What’s wrong? Is he loose?” Ebba tensed, ready to dive in the water.
Stubby clutched at his chest. “Just sunk down a bit. His bloody eyes are open. Thirteen stitches o’ a hammock, that near-on stopped me heart, I tell ye. Creepy selkie bugger.”
A laugh worked up her throat as her heart hammered. If they ever got to land, she’d reenact Stubby’s reaction.
“Any change?” Barrels asked.
Stubby looked again. “Wound on his head be gone. How long should we leave him in here for?”
However long it took for Grubby to wake? Her gut twisted. If he woke. “How about we leave him in the water until night falls?” She didn’t want him in the water when night fell. That was too much like tempting fate.
A loud thud made her jump.
Veritas fell to the wooden bottom of the boat.
Peg-leg lifted his head, rage distorting his face. Her mouth dried as she received her share of the fury. He’d seen the time she’d dented his pan killing a rat. Or the time she’d sprinkled dried ship scum in his grog when he said she couldn’t go ashore. Or—
“None o’ ye like my fish stew,” he bellowed.
Veritas Page 16
