Most of the crew had dispersed, seeking recreation on the island. Zander remained behind, preferring to sit on the sand and look out at the horizon as it prepared to swallow the sun. He’d quickly burnt himself out on the favorite activities of the crew at busy ports. He had no taste for brothels, and he’d rather get drunk on The Valerian than in a dingy tavern, surrounded by strangers.
Yarrow usually disappeared into the trees soon after they made berth anywhere, always returning with a fresh supply of native plants for George’s recipes or Douglas’ salves and tinctures. They carried a leather satchel with them during these trips. It wrapped around their waste like a belt but featured a large compartment they would stuff full of green things. This time, however, they stayed behind.
When they approached Zander on the beach and pressed the handle of a sword into his hand, he felt suddenly bashful. It was similar to the feeling he had his first day as his father’s apprentice, when he pressed a scraping tool into Zander’s hand and pointed wordlessly at a hide still covered in hair. The smell in his father’s workshop burned Zander’s nose and filled his eyes with tears. His father, mistaking his tears for insubordination, had taken the tool roughly from his hand and hit him with it.
But Yarrow, unlike his father, was a kind and patient teacher.
They stayed there on the beach until it was too dark to see, Zander clumsily parrying blows and Yarrow correcting his posture or stance every few minutes. When they’d finished, his legs burned and his head ached, but he felt more like a pirate than he ever had before. And when he turned to see Ace standing on the deck of The Valerian, watching them, his heart soared out of his chest and dove frantically into the ocean to hide.
From that day forward he trained daily, either with Yarrow or another member of the crew willing to teach him. Saila was particularly good with a blade, and though she wasn’t nearly as patient a teacher as Yarrow, Zander always left their training sessions having learned something new. When Zander inquired as to when he and Ace would cross blades, Ace simply chuckled and said he wasn’t ready for her.
It wasn’t until Bagu offered to teach him daggers that Zander truly found his stride, however. The weight of the smaller blades felt more familiar in his hands, and soon he was besting Bagu in dagger-throwing competitions, much to Bagu’s delight and chagrin.
When Bagu gave Zander a pair of twin daggers as a gift, the gesture touched him so deeply he was at a loss for words. When was the last time someone had given him a gift? He couldn’t remember.
“But Bagu, these are yours,” he’d said, examining the steel blades, their leather-wrapped handles soft from use.
“Don’t worry, little Zander,” Bagu said affectionately, patting him on the head like an older brother would. “I’ve found myself something new to play with.” He pulled two brand new daggers from his belt and twisted them rapidly in his hands. The handles, inlaid with pearl, glistened in the sunlight.
“Thank you, Bagu,” Zander said. “This means a lot.”
“We’re family now,” Bagu had said, tucking the blades away. “It’s nothing.”
Zander swallowed a lump in his throat at the word.
Family.
***
Eighteen days after Ace gave Zander his ultimatum, the crew approached Barbados. Zander volunteered to keep watch the night before they berthed. He needed to think.
As the crew settled in their hammocks and the noise underfoot diminished, Zander considered the choice before him. He’d put it mostly out of his mind since the option was presented, focusing instead on his training, and on Ace. But he knew he must fulfill his promise to her and contemplate the choice she gave him. He had to at least consider the possibility this life wasn’t for him.
It didn’t take long to reach a decision. Zander closed his eyes and imagined his life before becoming a pirate—before Ace. He imagined his daily routine down to the last detail. He remembered the feel of his bed, the comfort of a roof over his head, the feeling of stability he’d worked so hard to maintain.
And he felt trapped.
When he opened his eyes, the night sky lay wide open above him like an infinite tapestry. The water beat against the hull like a song, serenading him. He listened to its melody, imploring him to stay.
But nothing called so loudly as the beating heart of his soulmate, who lay sleepless in her room only paces away, afraid of the morning.
When dawn came and Barbados appeared as a dot on the horizon, Zander stood looking out at the water with a feeling of contentment. As the crew filed out from the lower decks, he went about his work like always. He felt no anxiety, no discomfort, not even the thrill of anticipation. Just peace.
Ace avoided him all morning, only addressing him when they at last arrived at the island that was briefly Zander’s home. When she spoke, she didn’t meet his eyes.
“Zander, why don’t you go to shore and help Theo and Yarrow find a few things,” she casually suggested.
Zander glanced at Theo, whose grimace told him he knew about Ace’s invitation to leave. Zander looked back at Ace.
“I think I’ll hang back this time,” he said. “I’ve got some things to do around here.”
Ace looked at him, a cautious hope in her eyes.
“Are you sure? You don’t want to just… stop by? Maybe track down those shoes you left behind?”
Zander smiled. “I’m sure. They wouldn’t be very good boat shoes, anyhow.”
Ace’s countenance bloomed under a radiant smile.
“Aye,” she said, nodding.
And that was that.
That afternoon, Ace invited Zander to her quarters along with Theo and Yarrow. Zander crossed the threshold of the ornately carved doorway feeling triumphant. He’d never been in her quarters before. The invitation felt significant, like he was part of her inner circle.
In the center of the room was a large mahogany desk. Ace had a map sprawled out on top of it, piles of notes pushed to the side to make room. Various rocks and seashells were placed at the edges of the map to keep it from furling. Her compass lay on top of the paper, its wooden case open to reveal the tool inside.
As Ace went over their plans to cross the Atlantic and dock in Portugal, Zander forced himself to keep his eyes on the desk instead of roving over her personal effects—books, tapestries, pieces of art—her bed. Just behind her, a set of built-in shelves were filled with tiny treasures from her travels, all enclosed behind glass: dried flowers, driftwood, crystals. He recognized the brown and white feather that had been tied in her hair when he first met her. Today, a turquoise feather took its place.
She was going over the current supplies on board with Theo, who expressed confidence that after picking up some rations in Bermuda the crew would be well prepared for the next leg of their journey. It would take around five days to sail to Bermuda, then another two weeks to sail from Bermuda to Azores, a small chain of islands in the middle of the ocean whose relative isolation on the map gave Zander a jolt of anxiety. He peeled his eyes away from the tiny dots on the map to look at Ace, whose face showed nothing but level-headed confidence. She met his eyes and smiled, and the rest of his anxiety melted away.
“You ready for a long trip, Chicken Leg?” she asked.
Zander was ready to march through the gates of hell and back if that’s where Ace and the crew were going.
But he simply said, “Aye, Captain,” and that seemed good enough for her.
That night was especially clear and warm. Most of the crew stayed above deck well past sundown, drinking, playing cards, or simply looking at the stars. Theo took the gathering as an opportunity to tell a story. He sat on top of a crate, a stage for his audience, though only a few of the crew paid him any attention. Theo’s focus was mainly on Zander—he suspected he was the only one who hadn’t heard the story before.
