And Ace was forced to kill a man she’d likely grown to trust. Even from here, he could see the blood spatter still marking her shirt.

And suddenly, the cold, heavy weight that filled him wasn’t so heavy at all. It was shared with every person on board, spread out among them like a burden they’d agreed to shoulder together. They knew the price of freedom was blood, and when their captain paid it, they shared the cost.

Zander approached Ace and knelt beside her. Wordlessly, he took one of the rags and began soaking up the blood.

The rest of the day was much like the day before. The crew pushed tirelessly, taking shifts rowing when the wind receded so they could put as much distance between themselves and the Spanish vessel as possible. Zander knew it was unlikely they would or even could pursue them—the merchant vessel carried only eight men, and whatever weapons they had were now in the possession of Ace and her crew. But everyone seemed eager to put the morning’s events behind them.

When the sun began to descend into the sky, Ace left her place at the helm to call up the rowers and address the crew. She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the crew, silent, for almost a minute. A tension built among the pirates that culminated when she finally spoke, her voice clear, firm, and surprisingly gentle.

“All of you here did well today. Things didn’t go exactly as planned…” A pause, and Zander saw Ace’s throat bob as she swallowed. “…but that’s on none of you.” Her gaze rested briefly on Echo.

Declan stood abruptly from where he sat and stormed to the lower decks, swaying drunkenly on his feet. Ace watched him briefly, then continued speaking to those left.

“We’re pirates,” she said, grinding the words out firmly, forcefully. “Pirates. We take what we want from this world, and we survive, no matter the cost.”

“Aye,” someone said from the crowd.

“We are free like no one else is. We live our lives according to the tides, not according to whose powdered ass happens to sit on this throne, or that one.” She pointed at imaginary foes as she spoke, her face a picture of distaste toward the aforementioned asses.

Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the small crowd.

“We fight, and we steal, and we drink, and we fuck!” Her voice grew louder as she spoke, her hands punctuating each word, her fierce, determined eyes meeting each pirate in turn.

Some of them cheered now, others whistled. There was a desperation to the sound, a sense of relief, like the crew was shaking themselves loose of the day’s tragedies. Ace invited them to leave it all behind, to remove the disappointment like a cloak and don themselves in rebellion instead.

“We’re pirates!” she yelled. “And we live free until the day the ocean takes us!”

Ace paused to let the crew cheer, the sun setting behind her, framing her in brilliant color as she looked out at them. Zander cheered as well, unable to resist her charisma. When the noise finally settled, Ace spoke again, this time quieter.

“But we are not villains. We don’t take from those who have nothing, because each of us has at one point or another had nothing, too. And we don’t take advantage of the weak, because we are privileged to be strong.”

A moment of silence passed, long enough for Ace to ensure her words sunk in, and then she straightened her spine and smiled widely, like a cat with a mouse.

“Thankfully, the men we stole from were neither weak, nor poor.” She turned, gesturing to Theo and Yarrow, who stood on the upper deck. The large chest taken from the Spanish vessel was sitting at Theo’s feet, and he flourished his arm dramatically as he bent to open it, revealing more gold coins than Zander had ever seen in his life. Excited murmurs rippled through the small crowd.

“I’ve instructed George to prepare something special for supper with some of those fancy ingredients you all found,” Ace continued. “Tonight, we celebrate. Yarrow and Theo will portion you each your share of the gold. As for the wine we took—portion it out yourselves, eh?”

She smiled again as the crowd erupted in a cheer. Zander was the only one who saw the exhaustion return to her face as she turned and retreated to her private quarters.

Zander wished he could follow her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. He wanted to be her solid ground, the way she was for him. He also needed her. The anxiety he felt earlier hadn’t entirely abated, and a small part of him still wondered if he was going to hell. But he knew it would have to wait. Perhaps he could find her later, when the crew was drunk and the night heavy enough to veil their affections.

He made to walk to the lower deck, meaning to see if George needed help in the galley.

“Zander.”

His head shot up at Ace’s voice. She was standing just outside the door to her quarters, looking at him. Her eyes were filled with raw exhaustion and need.

He didn’t need her to say it. She simply stood there, waiting for him. Without hesitating, he went to her. He walked past the crew, some of whom stared at him as he went. Others were wholly engrossed in estimating their share of the gold.

When he and Ace disappeared behind her door, a portion of the crew erupted in a swell of cheers and teasing. Ace simply shook her head resignedly, sighing. Zander ignored it, his entire focus on Ace.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand gently brushing her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, her hand covering his. She turned her face so she could kiss his palm, then looked into his eyes.

“I’m exhausted,” she said. “And I needed you.” Her eyes filled with tears. In truth, she had needed him for a long time, far before she ever knew he existed, and he in turn needed her.

Zander pulled her into his chest and held her tightly.

“I’m here,” he said. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back, his own tears falling silently as she shook against him. “I’m right here, my love.”

Ace cried quietly for a while, her arms wrapped around Zander’s waist. He felt pieces of himself knitting back together as he held her, like she was a salve for his mental wounds. Then she pulled away, wiping her face. She smiled up at him, the tension from her shoulders and forehead eased.

“Let me get you out of that shirt,” Zander said, gesturing toward the blood that still lingered on her clothes.

Ace nodded, allowing Zander to undo the clasps of her vest, then the buttons on her shirt. She watched him thoughtfully as he did so.

“What did you call me?” she said suddenly.

Zander looked up. “Hmm?”

“Just now, when you were holding me. What did you call me?”

Zander’s mouth hung open mutely as he remembered what he said, realizing he’d let his feelings slip potentially far too soon.

Well, no going back now, he thought. He undid the final buttons on Ace’s shirt and gently slid it from her shoulders, his eyes fixed on hers.

“I called you my love,” he said.

To his great relief, Ace smiled, reached her arms around his neck, and kissed him tenderly.

“We should rest,” she said. “The crew will be drunk within the hour, and one of us will need to keep watch later. I’ve asked George to save us some food. Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

He followed her to the bed, where she collapsed still wearing her pants and boots. Zander removed her boots for her, then his own, and climbed in beside her. She was breathing deeply within minutes, sleeping as Zander held her against his chest. He tucked away the questions he had for her—about that morning, and the merchant captain who had clearly recognized her. They could wait.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it. His thoughts ruminated over Thomas’s slowly falling body, and Ace beyond him, her face filled with disappointment. She killed him. He knew she only did what she had to. Still, his hands shook slightly as he held her.

What would he kill for? He’d never had cause to think about it. Of course, he knew on some level that being a pirate often involved killing. It was a dangerous life, and it belied risks that The Valerian’s low-key, morally grey approach to piracy tended to obscure.

Zander was not a pacifist by any means. Growing up poor, one of eight children in a crowded house on an even more crowded street, Zander often had to fight growing up. But he only fought for things that were worthy of the effort. Survival, for instance. Or to protect his family.

What would he kill for now?

Survival? Yes. He’d certainly kill to save himself from death.

Ace? Fuck yes. The surety with which he knew he would kill for her actually scared him a little in its intensity.

Theo? Yarrow? Yes, and yes. They’d acted like family toward him. They were family, a fact he’d known deep in his bones since the moment he met them.