Almost always. I swallow hard and nod, trying to be brave. I will need to stay with Lyra just in case, but I don’t know if I am more worried for our safety, or for the Captain’s. He pushes the extra pistol into my hand – a twin to the one he wears in his belt. He quickly strides to the desk and pulls out another knife from a drawer, placing its handle in my palm when he returns to me.
“For Lyra,” he states, glancing at the short blade. “Have you shot a pistol before?”
I nod in the affirmative, even though my brain is foggy, and I hope I remember what to do.
“Good. It only has one shot. I don’t have time to teach you how to reload, so only use it if you’re desperate. I trust you with your dagger if you need it.”
Lacing one arm behind my back, he pulls me tight to him and kisses me hard on the top of my head before leading me out into the brilliant sunlight. I squint, glancing around at the men scurrying on the deck.
“Be fierce today, my she-wolf,” he says, squeezing my hand once before leaving me and heading up to the quarter deck where Erik waits for his commands.
“Raise the colors!” One of the men shouts.
My eyes are drawn upward to the mast where a black flag is being raised. The neutral flag that has flown since our departure is missing, and the true flag of the Bartered Soul ascends. As the flag travels higher, the wind catches it, unfurling the canvas, and a shiver runs up my spine both from the cold air and the fear the sigil instills. It’s emblazoned with an animal’s skull, and a cutlass and pistol are crossed under its gaping maw. With a crack, it opens fully in the breeze, and recognition sweeps through me as I stare up at the skull – a wolf.
Heart pounding, I retreat below deck to my shared cabin to find Lyra. Charlie is here, comforting her, and I’m relieved she has this companion. As soon as I brush through the door, the sprightly young woman is on her feet, leans over and kisses Lyra hard on the mouth, and runs out the door to join her crewmates in preparation.
My hands slightly tremble as I pour myself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and sit by Lyra on the bed. With a heavy breath, I realize that I am the last person who can offer comfort to the girl; I am just as worried about the fate of the crew as she is. No placating words come to me as I stare into my glass of water, and the silence is heavy between us. Wordlessly, I pull the knife Lennox gave me from my boot and press it, handle first, into her hand.
“This is from your uncle. Let’s hope you don’t have to use it.” I pull the pistol from the back of my waistband and place it on the table beside the bed, then I retrieve my dagger from under my mattress to wait, returning to her side.
“Have you ever killed a man, Andromeda?” Lyra asks as we sit together, our anxiety filling the small room. We aren’t touching – I’m not the kind to offer gentle, reassuring gestures, but I hope my steady presence eases some of her fear. We are together, for whatever may come next.
“Yes, Lyra. I have,” I reply. I shudder, shoving the memory of the act back into the place I’ve kept it buried for all these years. This voyage continues to make me revisit my past, but I don’t need the distraction right now. “And I won’t hesitate to do it again if someone threatens us.”
After what feels like an eternity, but is not much time at all if our little clock is to be trusted, shouting and a single cannon shot breaks the heavy silence of our cabin. My breath catches, anxiety washing over me while expecting the side of the ship to blow out at any moment. Noise — footsteps and shouting mostly — surrounds us from above and just outside in the hold where the guns are, and my eyes dart around the cabin following the sound. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when howling begins on deck, like a pack of wolves surrounding their prey.
Locked in this cabin, not able to see what is happening, is worse than being in the thick of it on deck and my breaths come raggedly. Clearly, Lyra’s imagination is running as wild as my own as she twists her skirts between her fingers. I close my eyes in silent prayer, begging the Goddess for her protection from whatever comes next. She didn’t answer us so many years ago, but I have not lost faith.
A lengthy silence has my eyes flying open, staring through the wooden door as the ship creaks and loud banging sounds above us, followed by more shouts and footsteps pounding. The anticipation gnaws at me, and I can sit still no longer, pacing in circles, trapped in our tiny cabin.
Finally, I can take no more. Grabbing the pistol from the table, I return it to my waistband and tuck my dagger in my boot before approaching the door.
“Stay here,” I command Lyra, but the girl has steel in her hazel eyes as she rises as well.
“No. If you’re going up, I’m coming with you. I don’t want us to be separated and I need to see what’s happening.”
I’m taken aback by the forcefulness in her tone, but I can see in her eyes that she is terrified, both for our safety and the crew. I relent, and she follows me out the door.
One gun crew still stands poised at a single cannon below deck, but the remainder of the crew must be overhead. Lyra and I creep up the stairs to the deck. As my head rises above the deck, I swivel it, taking in the scene around me. We are tied off to another ship, and my blood runs cold at the sight of the King’s flag flying from its mast.
If King Dargan’s men catch me, my life is as good as forfeit; I cannot hide the sigil at my brow to ensure my safety outside the walls of the brothel.
I don’t understand the finer points of piracy, but I can’t fathom why we hailed a vessel of the King. I thought the goal was to steal from merchant ships and to avoid the crown altogether.
Scanning the deck of the smaller ship, a few men hold weapons, but the remainder of the crew is out of my sightline, and the worst of the battle seems to be over. I cannot stop my feet from propelling me farther onto the deck, to look across the rail and ropes for a better view. Erik’s hulking frame holds a battle axe in one hand, while another smaller one is tucked at his lower back. He looks more menacing than I’ve ever seen him – his dark hair glints with gold tied into the thick braid down his back, and leather vambraces cover his forearms.
While I am glad to see the Quartermaster safe, he is not the desired target of my searching gaze. My eyes are instinctually drawn to Captain Lennox’s broad shoulders in his faded leather coat as he stands shouting to the captured men. I can’t hear his words from here, but there is no sign of the man who gently caressed me last night. Billy has vanished, replaced by Captain Lennox who offers no quarter, and his glare is hard as he stares down the men awaiting their sentence. At this moment, he is every bit the fearsome captain I avoided so deftly at the House of Starlight.
Several of the crewmembers from the Bartered Soul guard a man I assume is the captain of the King’s ship. Unlike the rest of his crew kneeling in the plain uniforms of the King’s Navy, his military coat, epaulets, and fearless demeanor set him apart from the rest of the sailors. This man doesn’t cast his eyes downward when Lennox approaches him, meeting his stare boldly and spitting on the deck just short of Lennox’s boots when Lennox chucks him under the chin with his cutlass. Lennox makes a comment to the man before laughing at him on his knees, twisting the cutlass slightly to make the man flinch. A cruel smile turns his lips upward at the prisoner’s reaction before he turns his back to give additional orders.
From a distance, I continue to watch, and suddenly realize I am not the only one focused on the rival captain. Several of the men on his crew seem to be focused on him as well, and dread stirs in my chest. There is nothing I can do, no warning that will carry to our men.
When did I begin to think of them as mine?
My heart stops, and things seem to move in slow motion with the slight nod of the King’s Captain’s head. That small dip of his chin unleashes his crew with unbridled fury. They quickly rise to their feet, attacking the pirates without hesitation, pulling hidden weapons from their boots or other hiding places, not yet searched, along the deck.
A shout rises in my throat, but I can only watch and pray to the Goddess that the tough men and women of our crew can stand against them. In my distress, I’ve nearly forgotten Lyra, standing at my back in silence, until she grabs my hand with a sudden sob. I grip her hand tightly, but cannot pull my eyes away from the chaos unfolding.