Iron Pirate (The Deviant Future Book 5)

by Eve Langlais

  “If you won’t take me, then drop me at a port and I will find someone who will.”

  “No one will take you. It’s a dangerous route for anyone the Lazuli consider foreigners or without permission to sail.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you why.”

  “Do you want to be like those sick Enclave fuckers that bad?”

  “The duke is bad, but the others are just like you and me. Some good. Some not so good.”

  “And you’re what? Going to be the hero that rides in to save the day?”

  Her chin lifted. “Why not? I can think of worse things than wanting to fight an evil man who would destroy the city my father loved.”

  Darius sighed and shook his head. “There is nothing better than a noble idea to get yourself killed.”

  “It’s not noble at all when you think of it. If I do nothing, the duke, or someone equally heinous, will take control, and neither will let me live.” She knew her history lessons. Those that conquered and ruled poorly often found themselves pitted against the heirs when the people sought someone to save them.

  “I’m sure they’ll give up eventually.”

  “And if they don’t?” she said with an arched brow. “What of my children? Will I have to worry that they might become targets?” Just because the power had skipped her didn’t mean it would jump over her children.

  “What makes you believe the Lazuli can do what they claim?”

  “I told you before, why would they lie?”

  “What if works and it’s not a power you can use? Or it has some physical side effects?”

  She shrugged. “Then I guess I learn to deal with it.”

  “Stubborn,” he grumbled. “And here I thought you were a meek little princess.”

  “I was.” But now she had to find the courage to be stronger than that. He didn’t need to know how she trembled inside. How terrified she was of the possibility the treatment would make her into something grotesque. Yet she couldn’t forget that moment of certainty that activating her Deviant gene would solve her problem. Hiding with her uncle wouldn’t protect her. There was only one way to defeat a bully.

  Stand up to them.

  Darius paced. “You do realize the Crocanile River is difficult to navigate.”

  “Do I need a better ship?” She insulted him on purpose, and he glared.

  “The Avenger is more than capable.”

  “Then perhaps it’s the captain that is the problem.”

  He saw the trap. He walked into it anyhow. “I’m the only captain who would be crazy enough to agree.”

  “So you will take me there?”

  His lips flattened. “What if they can’t help you?”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to hope you’re right and the duke and his cronies tire of sending assassins after me. Or I’ll be either captured or dead.”

  “Don’t you mean I’ll be dead? Me and the crew? Probably fed to some of the Lazuli monsters living in the jungle,” he grumbled.

  For some reason she stepped close enough to cup his cheeks and said in a serious tone she’d heard her father use, “The Sapphire Kingdom thanks you for your service.”

  He blinked. “That is the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard.”

  “It is usually accompanied by a reward. Sometimes dinner and the good wine if my father liked them.” The memory brought a sad pang.

  “You’re not your father.”

  “I should hope not because your hand is most inappropriately placed.”

  He’d let it slide from her waist to her butt. He squeezed it. “Oops.”

  She stepped out of his reach. “The ship is moving. Is there another storm?”

  “No storm.” His eyes, however, held a tempest. “Just staying out of reach of certain beasties. We’ll remain anchored mid bay until dawn.”

  “And then?”

  “We enter the river’s mouth. Unless you’ve suddenly come to your senses.”

  “I have to do this.”

  “I figured you’d say that. Given it’s going to take every wit I have to get us there safely, I’m going to need to relax.” He eyed the bed then her. He offered a slow, lazy smile. It had the effect he wanted, igniting a curl of heat between her legs.

  Which was why she opened the door and said brightly, “Sleep is an excellent idea. Good night, Captain.”

  “Oh no you don’t, princess. After the stunt you pulled, I’m not going anywhere. I need a good night’s sleep. In my bed.” He headed for the bed. Lay down on it.

  She could only blink at him. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

  He tucked closer to the wall. “It’s big enough for two.”

  He couldn’t be serious. He remained facing the wall, a sliver of mattress at his back. If she dared.

  She had to wonder if he thought she’d sleep on the floor or maybe a chair to spite him. And for a moment she thought about it. Just a moment. Then she crawled into the bed with him, gingerly placing herself on the wedge he’d left, careful to not touch him. He didn’t move at all. She would know because she stared at his broad back.

  His breathing evened out into the measured cadence of someone asleep, and still she couldn’t find her own rest. Her mind churned with the possibilities—and trepidation.

  She’d convinced him. She was going to the Lazuli city. She offered a silent apology to her father. He’d meant well and wanted to protect her, but even he couldn’t have predicted the depths to which the Enclave would go to rid itself of her.

  Her eyes shut. She fell into a deep sleep and dreamed. It was a strange dream where she appeared spectator and not an actor.

  She found herself inside a home, but not one she ever recalled seeing before, far from the riches of the castle she called home. The hovel appeared comprised of a single room. The walls made of rusted metal with a jagged piece of clear plastic bolted to it. It required no curtain since the cloudiness of it only allowed light in, not sight. The floor, while smoothed, was just hard-packed dirt with a reed-braided rug in need of replacing. The structure rattled when a breeze ran through it.

  A boy sat in a corner, knees tucked to his chest, his skin dark and his hair a curly halo. He wore an earring she recognized because he still wore it to this day.

  Darius.

  A much younger version. What kind of dream was this?

  His head lifted slightly when the metal sheet that served as a door slid open on a rusted track. A woman sauntered in, her skin a deep and rich color, her braided hair a vivid scarlet. She wore a simple, fitted gown, ending at her knees, with a belt around her indented waist.

  She stood paused by the door, long enough that a man swaggered in after her.

  The newcomer barely spared a glance to the room. He turned on the woman, who uttered a sharp cry but not of pain. She squealed in delight at his attention.

  But the young boy didn’t perceive it that way.

  Darius rose to his feet with clenched fists and a determined expression. A skinny youth with gangly limbs and plenty of courage that emerged firm, if squeaky, at the end. “Get out of our house.”

  The quavering command caught the brute’s attention. Thickset, his hair shorn almost to the scalp, he spared only a quick glance at Darius before snapping, “Mind yer fuckin’ business.”

  “This is my house.” Darius stood tall while his mother said nothing. But Shereen saw the frown on her face.

  “Then stay and watch,” the man said with a leer.

  “Don’t you lay a hand on my mother,” Darius bravely said, still not grasping the situation correctly.

  His mother finally found her voice. “Stop harassing my guest, Darius.”

  “Guest?” he repeated, eyeing the arm around his mother’s waist. A touch she didn’t shrink from.

  “This is Jorkin. We met at my work.”

  “Aye, we did.” Jorkin turned his leer on Darius’s mother, and she beamed in reply.

  The woman waved a hand at her so
n, never once looking at him as she said, “Go help your sister at the shop. Be home for supper.”

  “Make it later. I’ve got things planned for you,” growled Jorkin, yanking her close so she let out another squeal.

  The disbelief on Darius’s face was heartbreaking.

  The pair didn’t wait for the boy to leave before mashing their mouths and making sounds a child should never hear.

  Darius left, head tucked, muttering a soft, “No. No. No.”

  Then the dream skipped ahead to him standing over a body, a dead one. Jorkin drooled on the floor in a puddle of blood. He’d been stabbed with a fishing spear.

  Darius put his hand on the spear just as his mother roused from a heap on the floor. She had a bloody lip and bright red cheek.

  What had happened here?

  The woman noticed the dead man Darius stood over. “What have you done?”

  “It wasn’t me,” he said, his hand dropping from the spear.

  “Liar. I know it was you. Useless just like your father,” she accused. “You’ve ruined us. Me. Your sister.”

  “He hurt you.” Darius took a step in his mother’s direction.

  “He had a house,” she spat. “He had food in his cupboards. Would have bought me new clothes. Not rags. And you ruined it.”

  “I’ll get you food.”

  “How?” was his mother’s bitter reply. “It would be easier if you left.”

  “I’ll fix this.” Darius reached out a hand, but she turned away, muttering a harsh, “I meant it. Leave.”

  “But—”

  “The soldiers will be coming for you, and I can’t have you here when they do.”

  “Where will I go?”

  “I don’t care.”

  The words hit him. Each syllable was a slap that had him jerking until he was out the door and running, his legs eating up the ground, taking him through a shanty-laden street to the docks and the tethered ship.

  Shereen ran with him, a ghostly passenger on what appeared to be a memory. But so vivid. She could feel his emotions. His fear at what would happen to him. His anguish over what had happened with his mother. His anger, too.

  His own mother threw him out. Didn’t want him. Had always blamed him for all her woes. He’d done his best getting a job at a young age rather than going to school. He could read and do basic sums. What else did he need?

  The thinking proved jarring to Shereen, who’d always excelled at her lessons and actually enjoyed them. She had little time to compare because the dream sped up, and they were sprinting again. Behind, the thump of boots grew louder as if a whole army marched on them. A glance showed two city guards, probably on their regular rounds, but Darius didn’t take any chances. He tucked down and slunk into the shadows of the crates stacked on the dock. He approached the first ship with a grizzled fellow perched on the bow, whittling at something.

  “Are you looking for crew?” he shouted.

  The gaze that turned his way took his measure. “Too young.”

  The next ship said they were full up.

  It wasn’t until the fifth boat, a rusty beast with decks slimy from its catch, that Darius found a spot aboard.

  Time flowed more quickly as she learned how to sail with him. A crash course in how to survive at sea. It was eye opening. More intriguing? Her glimpses of the events that shaped Darius.

  If true. She could no longer tell if this remained a dream or if she viewed a glimpse of his past.

  The view skipped forward, and she saw a boy who’d left his childhood behind. His innocence, too.

  The dream slowed to a spot where he received word his mother had died. The sharp pang of regret was quickly stifled. When he returned to port, he made sure to take time to spit on the swamp where she’d been laid to rest.

  Only as he stood from the grave did his gaze suddenly seem to focus. On her. It acted as a separator, and suddenly she was no longer a part of him. His emotions shuttered, and she could only read his expression.

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” he stated.

  “Where is here?”

  “Not one of my finer moments.”

  “You hated your mother.”

  “She didn’t have an easy life.”

  “That’s not an excuse for cruelty,” she replied.

  “You lived a pampered existence most of your life. It left you with an optimism not yet broken.”

  “You had it rough but didn’t end up cynical and mean.”

  “You don’t know me,” he said grimly. The Darius she faced was no longer the boy of the dream, but a man.

  “Don’t be so sure.” She’d seen enough to be impressed thus far.

  “What the fuck?” Dream Darius lifted a foot and frowned at the water swirling around his ankles.

  A glance down showed it rising up her leg, too. She knew what was about to happen. This was her dream after all. It was about to turn nightmare.

  The water rose to her thighs, and Darius sloshed toward her. “I don’t know why we’re flooding.”

  “Of course, you don’t because this isn’t your dream.” The water rose to her waist.

  He grabbed at her hands. “Wake up.”

  “I can’t.” She’d tried so many times to jolt herself from the nightmare. Closed her eyes and chanted that it wasn’t real.

  “How high does the water go?”

  “All the way.” The dream wouldn’t stop until she drowned.

  The water rose, and they couldn’t float, which meant it ended up going over their heads. She felt sorry for dream Darius. He acted so much like the real one.

  He held her hands still as if to comfort her. When he began to look starved for air, he faded, leaving her alone, submerged in water.

  She no longer panicked. There was no point. She’d never found an escape. Only more water.

  The pressure of it weighed on her. The very liquid itself pushed at her lips, demanded entry.

  Her lungs burned, crying for air. Eventually she couldn’t hold it anymore. Her mouth opened, and she sucked in—

  The nightmare ended abruptly as Shereen sat up in bed, her chest heaving.

  “About fucking time,” Darius snapped.

  By the tiny lamp he’d lit, she noticed he knelt beside the bed, his expression creased in concern.

  “Sorry. I guess I should have mentioned I suffer from the occasional night terror.”

  His lips went into a straight line. “About drowning.”

  She blinked. “How did you guess?”

  “No guess. I was there.”

  “In my dreams?” she said.

  “I think we started out in mine.”

  The statement caused even more consternation. Had what she’d seen been real? “Did you kill a man when you were a teen?”

  “I’ve killed plenty,” he admitted, shoving her aside so he could flop back into the bed on his back.

  The flippant answer didn’t confirm anything. Had the events of the dream really happened? “This would have been when you still lived at home with your mother. A man came into your house. He ended up dead. You killed him.”

  “I did not fucking kill him.”

  “So your mother never accused you of it and told you to leave?”

  “Oh, that happened. But it wasn’t me.”

  “Then who?”

  “No one important. I’m more interested in how you ended up inside my head.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Then how did you know about my sordid past?”

  “I must have heard a rumor.”

  He snorted. “Or rifled through my memories.”

  “Now you’re just talking nonsense.” She couldn’t read people’s minds. “I need a drink of water.” To get up, she had to climb over him.

  He didn’t move out of the way to make it any easier.

  “Everything you saw was true,” he stated as she aimed for the sealed pitcher of water he kept in the room. “My mother tossed me out, but it turned out to be the best thing
for me. I was meant to live at sea.”

  She turned with a glass in hand. “You had a hard childhood.”

  “No harder than most,” he said with a shrug. He sat up, leaning against the wall, the blanket pooled in his lap. “Have you ever been inside someone else’s dream before?”

  She fidgeted. “I’m still not convinced I was inside yours. Maybe it was you who got me to see.”

  He chuckled. “Such a stubborn princess.”

  “I can’t believe your mother banished you.”

  “And in so doing probably saved my life. Had the soldiers arrested me, I’d have been put to work in a mine, or worse.”

  “But you were innocent.”

  “Yes, but I knew the killer quite intimately.”

  “And they were okay with letting a child be blamed for their crime?” She was indignant for him.

  “Every child has to grow up eventually, some sooner than others.”

  She returned to the bed and sat on the edge. “What happened to you was wrong. No wonder you hate your mother.”

  “I do and don’t. She was who she was.”

  “What of your father?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Ah, yes, my father. The man who was leading a double life. He had two families,” he said in reply to her quizzical expression. “But he liked the other one better. Or so I assume since he spent more time with them.”

  “He had a second family?”

  “Wife, one kid. A brother. After he died, I met Roark for the first time.”

  “The king of the Marshlands.” She half turned to him. “Any other siblings?”

  A shadow creased his features. “A sister, but she’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. She barely tolerated me.”

  “I never thanked you for keeping us safe from the demons earlier,” she said.

  “I should have known better than to take you down there in the first place. Just like I know I should be taking you to your uncle instead of those Lazuli doctors.” He rubbed at his face.

  “Why do you care what happens to me?” she asked, her head tilted.

  “I don’t know why I care. I mean, it’s your funeral if it fails.”

  “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. I promise the moment I have access to some money, I will pay you.”