Chapter 29, Roberts

  The light in my cabin is dim, yet Sarah pivots and slices as if she knows every inch by heart, her head gliding through the air like she’s balancing a book on it.

  She’s trying out one of my blades, and making it look more like artwork than swordplay. I try to think of the fight ahead, but every time I look at her my focus slips, and that pull in my chest tightens all over again.

  I want her so badly. It was easier to keep my feelings buried when she was a wild card. When I couldn’t tell if she’d stab me, leave me, or both. When she was still angry.

  Something shifted when she agreed to be our navigator. She looks at me differently now. Trusting. Confident. Maybe even a little vulnerable. It makes me want to cover her mouth with mine and steal the breath from her lungs.

  But I can’t. I shouldn’t. Even if she wanted to, we shouldn’t. I want to change the world. Sarah wants to change the world. And she actually has the power to do it. Anything between us would only complicate that.

  I return my eyes to the pistol in my hand, rubbing powder into the chamber, checking the flint. Anything to keep from staring. But the sound of that blade moving through air is impossible to ignore.

  I let out a long breath, shifting in my chair, and steal another glance at her. Sarah flicks her wrist, tossing the sword into the air. A curl bounces on her cheek as she catches the sword in her other hand.

  Fuck. I’m so fucked.

  She’s maddeningly attractive as it is, but watching her move like that takes it to a whole new level.

  Most people have a certain look when they’re intensely focused. A crease in the brow, jaw pushed forward, head slightly tilted. You can see the effort written all over their face.

  But not Sarah’s. Her face is relaxed. If it’s costing her any effort, she doesn’t show it. How the hell is she that good? She didn’t learn that in the academy.

  Sarah pauses, eyes finding mine as she tucks the stray curl behind her ear. Her chest rises, then falls, like she’s been holding her breath. I’ve seen her do it before… catching her breath when she looks at me. My pulse stumbles, and I reach into my pocket, fingers closing around the seashell.

  I trace the ridges in the shell, and take a breath, clearing my throat. “Have you made your choice?” I ask.

  Sarah turns away from me, sheathing the blade and placing it back where she found it. “Maybe,” she says, resting her hands on her hips and inspecting the selection of armaments usually hidden behind a pair of sliding bookshelves.

  She moves slowly along the collection, her fingers grazing the handle of a boarding axe. Then she lifts a cutlass with a worn grip, gives it a light shake to test the weight, and sets it back in its place.

  Standing, I wrap my sash around my waist, letting the hidden pocket fall at my hip. Sliding a pistol inside, I cinch the cloth snug enough to hold it, loose enough to draw.

  Sarah pauses near the edge of the rack. At first I think she’s eyeing the polished saber I took from a naval officer, but instead, she reaches for the sword with the golden hilt mounted just behind it. “Where did you get this?” she asks.

  “I took it from Tobias, actually.” I circle the table and stop, leaning one hip against it. “He stole it from some important Shaper.”

  Sarah grips the sheath and pauses to glance at me. I fold my arms and give her an approving nod. The blade sings as she slides it free.

  I watch as she holds the blade level, inspecting the curve, then brings it closer, angling it to catch the light, studying the grain of the steel. Not many people know how to spot the signs of a perfectly forged weapon. Sarah clearly does.

  “What was their name?” she asks. Her thumb brushes the edge of the blade and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  What was who’s name? I think, taking a long breath as I struggle to break myself out of a trance.

  Sarah glances at me, and I can’t look away. Gods, her eyes. Even in the low light, they pull me in, make everything else fade.

  “The Shaper this belonged to,” she says, raising her brows.

  The sword, right. I blink, like I’m trying to remember. Really I’m just trying to get my head back.

  I shrug, “I don’t know much about the Shapers, to be honest.”

  “Most people don’t,” Sarah says, looking back at the sword and balancing the fulcrum on her two fingers. “But the world would be a better place if they did.”

  “How so?” I ask, picking up my freshly sharpened knife from the table.

  I bend down on one knee and slide it into the sheath on the inside of my boot. All the while never taking my eyes off Sarah.

  “The Shaper's origin is more than a tale, it’s… perspective,” she says, holding the sword loose at her side. “Once I heard it, I—”

  Sarah’s words trail off, and her gaze looks far away.

  I stand, bending my knee forward over my toes to flex my ankle, testing the position of the knife in my boot. Slowly, Sarah returns from wherever she went and looks back at me.

  “Couldn’t see the world the same way again,” she says. “I’ll tell it to you sometime, if you’d like.”

  “Definitely,” I say, taking my second pistol from the table and securing it to my thigh holster.

  “There’s something familiar about this sword,” Sarah says.

  Walking towards her, I hold out my hand. “May I?”

  Sarah nods, handing me the sword, hilt first.

  I take it and hold it at just the right angle. “Here, look closely.” The words etched at the very end of the hilt catch the light.

  Sarah leans in, her shoulder pressing against my chest as she studies the symbols. Then, she clasps her hand around mine, pulling the handle closer. I shiver at the touch.

  “This is Lignum Script,” she says, voice low.

  “Can you read it?” I ask.

  Sarah tilts her head to look up at me, her hand still clasped around mine. Maybe I’m imagining it, conjuring it, but I swear I can feel her lean in, just a little, pressing closer.

  “What you surrender to Aeynasha is never lost, only transformed into endless gifts,” She murmurs.

  “Aeynasha is the Shapers’ goddess, right?” I ask.

  “There’s no direct translation for the word.” Sarah’s eyes widen, a quiet spark lighting them from within. “Divine feminine comes close. It’s also the word for nature.”

  She’s glowing now, talking about it like it’s something alive in her. My gaze flicks to her mouth, back to her eyes. She doesn’t pull away.

  I reach up and touch her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. She still doesn’t flinch.

  So I go for it, tilting my face toward hers, the warmth of her breath brushing my lips. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long. Our lips haven’t even met, and already the release of it all burns through me, sharp and exquisite.

  Then she turns her head away.

  My breath catches in my throat, my stomach clenching like I’ve been punched. I draw in a small breath through my nose. As the shock fades into a dull ache, I realize Sarah is still close. Her hand is still clasped over mine, her grip tighter now, slick with sweat.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying not to move. Because I’d rather be paralyzed with her like this forever than take a single step back.

  “Don’t be. It’s just—” Her voice trembles as she speaks.

  “Poor timing, I kn—”

  Sarah releases my hand and turns into me, wrapping her arms around my waist, her forehead finding the crook of my neck.

  For a second I’m stunned, my arms levitating at my sides, still holding the sword in one hand. But then I relax, my free hand caressing the back of her shoulders.

  “There are some things I need to explain and—well—I need time,” she says softly.

  “I understand.”

  She doesn’t answer. Just lets me hold her, tracing small circles in her back until I feel her melt against me.

  I don’t want it to end. I could stand here forever, in this quiet, with her weight against me and the ship rocking softly beneath our feet.

  There’s a kind of safety in it, a warmth that slips past all my defenses. And in that safety, something stirs. The part of me that wants to be seen, to tell her the things I’ve kept locked away just to see if she’ll still stay.

  She thinks I ran away that night, all those years ago. But I would never have left her. She kept me at arms length, sure. Pushing me away every chance she got. But I would have let her do it forever. I would have never stopped trying.

  “Sarah, I didn’t—.”

  A knock at the door. I wince as Sarah’s arms loosen.

  “Come in,” I say, stepping back.

  Harken enters, glancing between us. “Tobias is near. Maybe three clicks out. Just so you know.”