Pirates of Aletharia, page 28
Emilia blushed. “It’s an important part of the job,” she said dismissively. “If an injured person isn’t able to speak, I have to figure it out on my own.”
Maria nodded. “Do you know how it happened?”
Emilia shook her head. “Did they…attempt to execute you when you were imprisoned in Regolis?”
“No,” Maria said, to her surprise. “They hadn’t yet, anyway.” She sighed heavily. “The preferred method of execution in Regolis is the gallows. I assumed you knew that as well as anyone.”
“I do,” Emilia admitted, “I suppose.”
“Do you know where execution by sword,” Maria asked, “is the standard?”
No, but it wasn’t hard to guess.
“Ships,” Emilia assumed.
Maria nodded.
The powerful and dangerous pirate captain who stood before Emilia, now, reminded her more of a baby bird, waiting for a push to begin her first flight.
So, Emilia pushed. “What happened?”
Maria waved a hand at the cot. “Mind if I sit?”
With an amused smile, Emilia said, “Actually, I think Rat-Slayer would love it, if you sat next to him.”
Maria chuckled. She sat down next to the sleeping cat—and then, almost as an afterthought, she reached out and rubbed his head.
Emilia’s smile deepened at the sight.
Maria tilted her head toward the empty side of the cot. “This thing’s as hard as a rock. I’m sure it can handle the three of us.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Emilia said with a playful smile. “Rat-Slayer and I are a bit on the curvy side.”
At that, Maria’s large, brown eyes shifted toward Emilia’s hips and darkened, but all she said was, “Sit. Please.”
Emilia lifted both eyebrows. She’d never thought she’d hear the word please come out of Maria’s mouth.
It was almost…cute.
You know, for a murderer.
Emilia sat on the end of the cot and folded one leg underneath her.
Maria held out her hand, and Emilia found herself taking it again—tracing the deep scar in her palm.
Those large, mesmerizing eyes of Maria’s darkened.
“You said this wound would’ve been painful,” Maria reminded Emilia. “What sort of person, do you think, would subject themselves to that sort of pain?”
“A person who was already suffering,” Emilia said.
Maria must’ve been expecting her to say something else—because she suddenly frowned. “You wouldn’t call that person mad?”
Emilia shook her head. “Insanity is subjective,” she said. “What sounds mad in one instance is survival in another. I’d call it desperation, not madness.”
Maria quirked that scarred eyebrow of hers. “Desperation?” She acted as if she’d never heard the word before, but perhaps, it was just that she’d never heard anyone apply it to her. Captain Maria Welles was supposed to be a villainous madwoman, not a desperate prisoner. “And if I told you it didn’t end there? That even after I escaped, I continued to put myself in situations that no sane person would?”
“If you said that,” Emilia said, looking down at her hand, “I’d say you sounded…a little like me.”
Maria gave a subtle nod. “I lost a lot, prior to my decision to engage in piracy—if you can call it a decision,” she muttered. “But I still had a crew—a small one, much smaller than before, but a crew, nonetheless.”
Emilia listened curiously, surprised that Maria was offering up so much information.
“When I took the Wicked Fate, my goal was only to keep my crew alive. We’d engage in simple piracy to survive—steal from merchant vessels, sell to Adda.” Maria shrugged. “I already had a fencer on my side. Nefala was already a pirate port. It made sense.”
Emilia’s brows furrowed. Maria had told her a few nights ago that her victims weren’t merchants. She said she sunk navy ships, not merchant ships.
“What changed?” Emilia asked.
Maria gave another shrug. “I didn’t want to steal from merchants. Merchants hadn’t done shit to me,” she explained. “King Eldric, on the other hand, had.”
“So, you went after his naval ships, instead,” Emilia assumed.
“The Wicked Fate was a warship, before I took her,” Maria said. A cruel smile curled at her lips. “Why have cannons, if you’re not going to use them?”
Emilia nodded. “How did your crew feel about it?”
With a sharp laugh, Maria said, “They thought I’d gone mad.” She scratched the sleeping, silver tabby’s ear with her left hand, as she spoke. “Zain told me he wouldn’t follow me to my death. If I was determined to wage war against the world, I’d have to go at it alone.” At Emilia’s frown, Maria explained, “He was threatening mutiny.”
Emilia’s frown deepened. “And yet, you still have a ship.”
Maria nodded. “I took him at his word. Rather than force my crew into a battle they didn’t want, I took a longboat and went at it alone.”
Emilia squinted at that. “Wait, you—” She shook her head in confusion. “Captain, are you saying you attacked a warship? By yourself? In a longboat?”
Maria laughed, “In a fucking longboat.”
An astonished smile twitched at the corners of Emilia’s lips. “How did you even survive?”
“I almost didn’t,” Maria said, and then, she lifted her chin, directing Emilia’s attention back to that scar.
Emilia nodded slowly. “You were captured.”
“Easily,” Maria said. “I never stood a chance.” She glanced down at Rat-Slayer, and she continued to stroke those tattooed fingers of hers through his silver fur. “I was recognized immediately, of course, and my execution was set for the next morning.”
Emilia remembered the sadness and loneliness she’d felt on the morning of her own execution, and empathy twisted deeper within her chest, as sharp as a knife. “How did you escape?”
Maria glanced at Emilia, and her smile suddenly deepened. “In the middle of my execution, my sweet surgeon, the Wicked Fate fired upon the navy ship.”
“What?” Emilia breathed.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Maria murmured, and she leaned closer. “Despite my recklessness, despite my mistakes, my crew had come for me. They saved me, and I was able to watch my enemies burn, after all.”
Emilia saw it again—those beautiful, little sparks of golden fire in Maria’s dark, brown eyes.
That bloodthirsty fire of hers was, at once, a magnificent and dangerous thing to behold, and Emilia was as drawn to it as ever, just like a damn moth.
“There was no mutiny?” Emilia said, breathless with shock. “They just…forgave you?”
“Don’t you get it, Em?” Maria said in a stunningly gentle tone. “That’s what this is. Family.” She lifted her hand and brushed her tattooed thumb against the softness of Emilia’s cheek. “Very few of us on this ship have much in the way of blood-family, but we have each other.”
Emilia held her breath, her skin tingling pleasantly beneath Maria’s fingers.
“And that’s what family does,” Maria said softly. “They stand by you—even when you fuck up.”
Emilia’s throat constricted. “Not in my experience.”
Maria tilted her head to the side, and her soft, brown curls fell against the collar of her shirt. She brushed her knuckles against Emilia’s jaw, and Emilia shivered, again, at her touch. “Then, it’s good that you came to me for a new experience, isn’t it?”
Emilia licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “That’s not why I came to you.”
“No?” Maria said with a skeptical smile. “You’re telling me you didn’t come to me for adventure?”
Emilia watched Maria’s lips form that word, and a scorching rush of desire poured through her.
How did Maria do that? How did she make the word adventure sound so…enticing?
Maria tilted her face closer, and her breath—sweetened by rum and fruit—caressed Emilia’s lips. “Why were you alone?” she whispered.
Emilia tried to remind her lungs to inflate and deflate, but all she seemed to be able to remember, at the moment, was how warm and soft Maria’s lips were. “What do you mean?” she said breathlessly.
“When I went through what you’re going through now, I had my crew,” Maria said, “but you? You have no one.” She leaned closer. “You came to me, all alone, practically begging me to fuck you over.”
Emilia scowled at that. “There was no begging.”
Maria ignored her objection. “You had no one to save you from yourself. Why is that, love?”
The grief expanded in Emilia’s throat, suffocating her. But she couldn’t let it show. “I—I don’t know.”
Maria leaned even closer, now, and her forehead, framed by the silkiest curls, brushed against Emilia’s. “Stay with me,” she whispered against Emilia’s lips, “and you’ll never be alone again.”
An old proverb came to Emilia’s mind, just then: Words whispered by devils are sweet, indeed.
Emilia didn’t know if she believed in any sort of devils. Ghosts were as kind or cruel as humans, and gods came in all shades of good and evil, as well.
But Maria’s words were sweet.
Far too sweet for Emilia to believe.
“I can’t stay,” Emilia sighed. “You know I can’t.”
Maria dropped her hand, and Emilia instantly missed the warmth of her touch. “We’ll see.”
Emilia swallowed, unnerved by the pirate captain’s confidence.
Maria glanced off toward the surgery table. “You wanted to know why I didn’t kill you,” she said. “Well, now, you do.”
“Do I, though?” Emilia said breathlessly.
Maria’s intensely dark gaze returned to Emilia. “I know what it’s like to spiral,” she explained. “The difference was, when I did it, I had people to save me from myself, and you, my sweet surgeon, are alone.”
When Emilia, in pure shock, failed to think of an adequate response, Maria dusted off her black, leather trousers and climbed to her feet. Heading toward the door, she murmured, “Goodnight.”
“Wait,” Emilia said, jumping to her feet, “Captain?”
Maria froze. She turned, and a devious smile curved at her lips. “I think that might be the first time you’ve called me captain without adding a bit of spite to it.” A gleam of amusement shone in her dark, brown eyes. “I can’t decide which way I like better.”
The laugh that escaped Emilia’s lips sounded a bit higher than usual, her voice strained with anxiety.
The subtle rise and fall of the ship—even tipping at a slight incline, at times—made it far too easy to close the space between them, and before Emilia even realized it, she was standing directly in front of Maria.
“What do you want, Em?” Maria murmured.
Perhaps it was the surprisingly intimate nature of their earlier conversation, or perhaps it was the slight drop in Maria’s voice, when she asked what Emilia wanted. But the word ‘you’ suddenly came to mind.
But the one question that had whirled around in her head all day was the one that spilled from her mouth. “Why did you kiss me?” Emilia whispered.
Maria stepped forward. Emilia’s cabin was barely large enough for two people, as it was. With them both closing the space, Emilia felt as if there weren’t a bit of air left between them.
Emilia had promised herself she wouldn’t mention the kiss. She wanted to forget it happened—to forget the warmth and pleasure she’d felt while Maria’s lips were on hers.
It overcomplicated an already complicated issue.
Until that kiss, Emilia had been so sure that she hated Maria. But now, her thoughts were reeling, and she no longer knew what she felt toward the pirate.
Maybe she’d never known at all.
“You tell me, love,” Maria said. She curled one hand around Emilia’s hip and pushed her against the wall, and she pressed the other hand above Emilia’s head. She leaned against Emilia, and every inch of her body—somehow both soft and firm, at once—pressed against Emilia. “Was it madness, do you think,” she whispered against Emilia’s mouth, “or desperation?”
Emilia’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes fluttered closer. Desire clenched throughout her entire body, and despite every negative feeling she’d ever had toward this pirate, she wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to kiss her again.
“I,” she stammered. “I don’t know what to think.”
Maria tilted her face, and one of those thin braids she wore at the front of her curls fell forward. “Not such an expert now, are you?” She took her hand from the wall and brushed her fingertips along Emilia’s jaw, lifting Emilia’s face toward her own. Then, just as Emilia was sure they’d kiss again, Maria said, “What’s in the bottle?”
Emilia opened her eyes. “What?”
“The bottle on your table,” Maria said with a vicious smile. “Tell me what’s in it.”
Emilia glanced at the glass bottle and then back at Maria. “What does that matter?”
“It matters because I say it does,” Maria said with a glare. “The fact that you seem so reluctant to tell me makes me think it matters a great deal.”
Emilia matched Maria’s glare with her own. “Well, it doesn’t.”
She couldn’t believe she’d actually considered kissing this woman again.
One pleasant conversation, and she’d completely forgotten every good reason she’d had for hating the egocentric pirate.
Again!
Her mother’s taunts were so, painfully right.
“Tell me what’s in it,” Maria said. “Is it poison?”
“Oh, for Aletha’s sake!” Emilia said. She shoved the captain away from her and marched over to the table. She snatched up the bottle of oil and thrust it into Maria’s hand. “Just take it and go!”
Confused by Emilia’s reaction, Maria opened the bottle and sniffed. Her dark eyes widened. “How—”
“I made it, you self-obsessed imbecile,” Emilia said. “What? You think I can make poisons but not oils?”
Maria stared at Emilia, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“I don’t know!” Emilia said. What she’d done was humiliating enough as it was, and now, Maria wanted an explanation, too? “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.”
Maria held it tightly. “I want it.”
Emilia waved a hand at the door. “Then, take it and go,” she snarled, “before I accidentally poison you.”
“You won’t even let me apologize?” Maria asked.
“Like you ever would,” Emilia scoffed. She rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’s me who should apologize—for forgetting what you’re actually like for a moment!”
Maria looked away, nodding. “Goodnight, Em.”
Emilia crossed her arms and fixed her gaze on the floorboards, too embarrassed to meet Maria’s gaze.
Maria’s departure was mostly silent, aside from the quiet creak of the door.
Rat-Slayer was awake again, and he expressed his disappointment with a meow and a flick of his tail.
“I know, I know,” Emilia sighed. “You disapprove.”
CHAPTER 14
Dine with Me
Despite living on a ship together, Maria somehow managed to avoid Emilia for the rest of the week.
Whether that was because of the gift or the criticism she’d faced for sparing Emilia’s life, Emilia wasn’t sure.
“Hypothetically,” Helen said, as Emilia cleaned her bowl, “if someone were to blow something up three days from now, about an hour before sunset…”
Emilia looked up at the master gunner, her brows high.
“And if—also hypothetically—she sustained some burns during the incident,” Helen added, “would you be able to fix that?”
“Is your hypothetical person dead?” Emilia said.
Helen’s thin, red eyebrows drew together in thought. “Not usually.”
“Then, yes, I can fix it,” Emilia assured her.
Helen grinned. “Perfect!”
Emilia suppressed a smile at her excitement. “Would you like me to make the burn salves ahead of time?”
“Yes!” Helen said. She pointed a gunpowdery finger, as if she thought Emilia were the brightest woman to ever exist. “That would be amazing!”
Emilia laughed. “I’ll have it ready for you, then.”
Helen clapped her hands on either side of Emilia’s face and kissed her forehead in a strangely aggressive manner. “I’m so glad the captain didn’t kill you!”
Blinking in shock, Emilia set down the bowl so that she could attempt to wipe the gunpowder off of her face. “Thank you, Helen,” she muttered, even though the enthusiastic gunner was already gone. “I’ll probably be flammable for the next three years.”
Emilia set aside the bowl she’d already cleaned and picked up another bowl from the dirty pile.
Helen was a lot of fun, no doubt, but somehow, getting random baths in gunpowder just didn’t seem like the best idea for a dragon sorceress.
It was only a few minutes later, when Emilia heard approaching footsteps—the soft thud of leather boots against wooden steps—and she knew, already, who it was. She didn’t know how she knew. Was it the fact that everyone else on the ship had eaten already?
Had Emilia been subconsciously keeping count?
Or was it that strange heat that seemed to radiate between them whenever they were close?
Was that even real?
Or was it all in Emilia’s head?
“If you hate me too much to serve me, you could at least tell me to fuck off.”
Emilia felt her lips twitch into an involuntary smile. She briefly considered taking Maria up on that offer. Any excuse to throw a few expletives at the arrogant pirate captain was a good one, if you asked Emilia.
But instead, she tossed the cleaning rag aside and looked up. “My mistake, Captain,” she said with a sassy smile, “I was cleaning your bowl. Next time, I’ll just pour your stew into a filthy one.”
Maria’s soft chuckle caused Emilia’s stomach to flip in delight.
For Aletha’s sake, why did the pirate captain have to look so devastating tonight—leaning against the table, with that devilish grin and those dark, burning eyes?
