Chapter 38, Sarah

  “What’s about to start?” I ask, following Manee down the companionway.

  “Drawing lots for anchor watch,” they say over their shoulder. “Someone has to stay behind and guard the ship.”

  Voices grow louder as we reach the middle deck and a strong wind blows. The air smells different. Less salty, more…I can’t put my finger on it. Then I spot it, a jagged coastline in the distance. Turquoise water bordered by stark white sand and lush green mountains that stretch as far as I can see. My shoulders relax just a little as a layer of tension melts away and a smile spreads across my face.

  Liss runs past us in a flurry of flying copper locks. She’s ringing a bell, holding it high and shouting at the top of her lungs. “Ayyy Ohh!”

  “Ayyy Ohh!” The call is echoed in voices all around us.

  I turn around to see what everyone is looking at. A vessel is coming up fast on our starboard with triangular sails that look more like fins, cutting air instead of catching it. The vessel is smaller and sitting lower in the water than The Hellcat and I can only see the tops of the sailors' heads.

  A sharp whistle sounds beside me. I turn around and see Jake, perched on the other side of the rail. He’s barely hanging on to the shrouds with one hand, the rest of his body leaned out over the side. In his outstretched arm is a long wooden pole with a hook at the end. Manee and I step up behind him and look over the edge.

  Jake whistles again and a weathered sailor on the other ship attaches the handle of a leather canister on the end of the pole, then whistles back.

  “It’s The Crescent Maroon.” Manee says, turning to me.“She’s our messenger, or mercenary. Depends on the day.” They smirk.

  Hellcats wave as the Crescent Maroon sails past us. Jake climbs over the rail, extending the pole across the deck to Roberts. She unhooks the canister dangling from the end and takes out a rolled parchment.

  Harken leans in, reading over her shoulder as her eyes dart across the page.

  “Son of a bitch,” Harken says. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  That gets everyone’s attention. A hush settles over the deck, all eyes on Harken and Roberts.

  “Thorne’s holding an auction,” Roberts says. She takes a long inhale through the nose. “Six hundred pounds of corialis.”

  “How the fuck—” Liss blurts out. Her voice is drowned by the instant uproar.

  “He’s a dead man!” Jake shouts.

  Roberts hands the parchment to Quill whose eyes narrow sharply when she looks at it.

  Harken shakes his head, and says something to Roberts. Her brows crease as she listens. She nods to Harken, then holds up her open palm.

  The chatter dies down, and Roberts speaks. “There’s only a handful of explanations for how Thorne got his hands on exactly six hundred pounds of Corialis. And stealing it from the Marlins isn’t one of them.” She pauses, scanning the crowd. “I’d bet my ship that the Marlins are behind this. The auction is a trap and Thorne is the bait.”

  “They’re planning to ambush the auction?” Harken asks.

  Roberts turns to Harken, her tone shifting like it's just the two of them conversing privately.

  “It’s perfect. You get the attention of everyone and their mother who’s in the business of fencing the stuff—” She turns, raising her voice to address the crew. “Get us all in one place and boom.” She throws up her hands. “They extinguish the entire violet market in one fell swoop.”

  “Not if we get to Thorne first.” Jake says, dryly. “Take back what’s ours.”

  “Thornes an idiot but— he’s not that dumb.” Sonya says. “If he’s advertising, he wouldn’t have it on him…would he?”

  “Forget about the Corialis.” Roberts says. “The Marlins were motivated enough to plant Alessa on our crew, they’re capable of anything. I say we steer clear of the whole thing. Cut our losses.”

  Manee steps forward. “She’s right. Think about it, the Marlins are cunning, patient. And Thorne is an idiot. You think the Marlins went to all that work conning us just to leave a fortune sitting around somewhere that Thorne could snatch it? Because he sure as hell didn’t steal it from them.”

  “We stay out of it.” Roberts says, pacing, meeting the eyes of her crew. “Maybe I can talk to Thorne myself, try to scare some sense into him. But we’re not gonna take the bait and go for the Corialis. We evacuate Sanctum, minimize the casualties. Hell, if I’m wrong, and I hope I’m wrong…it’s a real auction. We find out who wins and take it from them later.”

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  “It’s a smart plan.” Harken says.

  Manee holds up a hand. “I agree.”

  “Me too,” Sonya says.

  “Are there any objections?” Roberts says, her gaze sweeping the deck.

  “Do we still get to have shore leave?” This time it’s one of Tobias' crew who speaks.

  My focus immediately shifts back to Roberts, mock surprise twisting her brow.

  “You’ve been on my ship for five whole minutes and you’re already whining about your precious leave?” she asks, pinning them with an icy stare. “Let me make one thing clear.” Her gaze shifts, one at a time she singles out Tobias' crew. “You will earn your place here, by trial, just like all of us have.”

  Roberts pauses, her expression shifting from rigid to amused. “If you were one of us you’d know that I never skimp out on shore leave.”

  Jake whistles, striking the floor with the pole. Cheers ripple across the deck and Liss rings the bell.

  “We have at least a week before we need to worry about the Auction and I plan on putting you all through the ringer. Hellcats, you’re competing for commander of Serpents Cradle— fuck I hate that, someone pick a new name for that ship. As usual, eat, drink, fuck your hearts out. You have until sunrise tomorrow to put it on my tab, after—” She pauses for the uproar.

  “Hellcat, Hellcat,” Manee cups their mouth adding an ominous sound to the chant. “Hellcat…”

  Liss picks up the chant, then Jake pounds the pole rhythmically on the deck. More voices join in, feet stomping in time.

  “Sunrise!” Roberts shouts, and the chanting quiets. “After that you spend your own coin. And don’t miss trials. We start the day after tomorrow.”

  The sound of an explosion travels across the water, then two more high pitched hisses followed by even louder booms. I turn, looking for the source. It’s then I notice we’ve entered a bay, dotted with ships anchored off shore.

  I turn to Manee. “Were those—”

  “Fireworks in the middle of the day, yes,” They say, smiling.

  “Should we lay the anchor or are we just going to beach it?” Adler says, showing up seemingly out of nowhere.

  That gets a few laughs, but Adler’s face is blank, dead serious.

  Has she been here this whole time or am I just that good at blocking her out. Sonya catches me rolling my eyes and sticks out her tongue behind Adler’s back. I chuckle.

  “Speaking of anchors,” Manee says. “Who’s got the straws?”

  Sonya holds up a bundle of hay, tied with a string. “Counted ‘em twice,” she says, handing the bundle to Manee.

  Manee turns away, hiding their hands as they arrange the straws.

  A shadow darkens the deck. The Serpents Cradle drifts beside us, with only a few yards of space between them and our hull.

  Gery is leaning against The Serpent’s rail, resting on her elbows. She salutes us, smoke curling around the pipe hanging from her lips.

  Joanne bounds down from the Serpent’s forecastle and calls out across the water. “How’s it feel to come in second, Captain?” She shouts, taunting.

  “Hey Jo!” Roberts calls back. “Suck my dick!” she yells, her voice cracking as she bursts into laughter.

  Joanne shouts something else, but The Serpent is already ahead of us, and her voice is lost in the wind.

  Roberts tips her hat to Joanne then turns to Manee. “I’ll go first,” she says, pulling a straw and holding it up for all to see.

  Jake goes second. He draws a long straw and lets out a whoop.

  Sonya is next, then Harken, followed by another dozen. All long straws.

  Liss does a back flip into a hand stand. Walking on her hands, feet dangling in the air, she plucks a straw from Manee with her toes.

  Manee grimaces. “Really, Liss? Disgusting.”

  One by one, the bundle of straws dwindles until there are only two remaining in Manee’s grasp.

  Harken chuckles. “Sorry, Quill. Looks like it’s gonna be—”

  Quill holds up a long straw, grinning.

  “No!” Harken bellows. “What are the chances?”

  A collective cry of surprise rings out as Manee reluctantly holds up the last straw, the short straw.

  Roberts giggles like a child, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. Manee tosses her a playful scowl, then lunges at her. They try to snatch her hat but she leaps out of the way. Manee picks up a towel, grabbing the ends and twirling it into a rat-tail. Roberts takes off running, her laughs turning hysterical. She zig-zags around the deck, Manee in hot pursuit. All eyes are on the two of them, the crew’s laughter filling the air.

  I watch Roberts wipe a tear from her eye, breathless and panting. I’ve never seen her really let go like this before. She looks so happy, so free. My heart swells. I want to bottle this moment up and keep it forever, so I can always remember her exactly like this.

  Manee catches up to Roberts and snaps the towel, whipping the hat off her head. She bends to pick it up and pauses, hands on her knees, wheezing. Manee jumps on her back and wraps an arm around her neck, putting her in a head lock. “What’s so funny, huh?” Manee teases and the two of them fall to the ground in a puddle of laughter.

  My smile dissolves, as Roberts grins. The world narrows until there is nothing left but the agonizing, magnetic pull of her. An ache blooms in my chest, like a bruise being pressed on.

  I want to reach out and touch her, to anchor myself to her skin and never let go. A terrifying thought takes over, unbidden. I would give it all up. The dragon magic that burns in my veins, the war against the Prophets, the crushing weight of my purpose. I would trade every bit of my destiny if I thought it would make her mine.

  But it wouldn’t. I’m too broken. Yet, I am too pathetic to walk away from her. I need her. She’s a powerful ally and a friend that I can’t bear to lose. Even if being near her feels like ingesting a slow-acting poison.