As the shore shrunk into the distance behind them, Jubal started to sing. Soon, the crew joined in, and they set out to sea with a shanty on their lips.
Ace stood at the mast, her telescope to her eye and a smile on her face as she gazed out at the water. When she lowered it, she caught Zander’s eye and winked.
His stomach flipped as he thought of the last few days, so much of it spent in their noisy room at the inn. A part of him wanted to go back. But he had begun to miss the smell of the ocean air, the sting of the water, the immense task of each new day. He felt relieved to be back on board.
The weight of the raid-gone-sour had finally lifted from Zander’s mind. Ace seemed lighter than she had in weeks. Theo and Yarrow were full of smiles, and Zander found he’d missed them more than anything else over the past four days.
For the first time in a long time, Zander was confident that everything was going to be alright.
Once, he roamed the depths of the ocean, hungry and searching for prey. The last of his kind.
The bowels of the sea were his home, the inky black water enveloping him, frigid and unforgiving—as was he.
He knew nothing but hunger.
When the abyss of his home didn’t provide the sustenance he required, he followed the promise of food upward. His jaws snapping, tentacles thrashing, he would fly across the expanse of the sea, listening for the telltale sound of a ship upon the water.
And when he found it, he devoured it.
One night, the familiar cut, cut, cut of wood on water filled his senses. He propelled himself upward, toward the offensive sound, the promise of a feast waiting—wood, flesh, bone, and metal.
Another sound mingled with the ship’s resonance, something that lilted and warbled in a strange rhythm.
Song, something told him.
Food, his body responded.
He pushed harder, the sound filling his mind, his hunger propelling him furiously forward.
The sounds grew louder. Cut, cut, cut. Warble, lilt, warble.
Wood, flesh, bone, metal.
He emerged in the too-warm air without stopping, spraying the invading vessel with a barrage of water that smothered the strange melody. He gave no other warning before wrapping himself around his quarry and squeezing. The ship groaned in protest, the last desperate cries of a dying animal. He felt the strangled echoes of its demise in his body. His appetite swelled in response.
He was about to open his jaws, to savor the first taste of a successful hunt, when a piercing cry rang through the air and a blinding pain echoed through his brain.
He caught sight of the small creature just before it attacked again. The tiny stick in its claws was tipped with metal—metal he could crunch between his jaws if only he could reach it. But the creature positioned itself at the edge of the dying ship and leapt forward, weapon in hand.
In the brief moment in which she remained suspended above him, he saw reflected in her small round eyes the same feeling that had driven him throughout the many long years of his life: hunger.
In the next moment, he was blind.
Freeing one of his tentacles from the ship, he whipped it toward his face, wrapping around the tiny creature whose hunger somehow matched his own. He felt the weapon drive deeper before he pulled her away, howling, and the blindness began to numb his other senses.
In a last anguished attempt to defeat his foe, he squeezed, not relenting until he heard the deafening crack of the ship, felt the last shudder of its life reverberate upon the surface of the sea before it succumbed.
He was dying, sinking alongside the feast of wood, flesh, bone, and metal. The tiny, fierce creature was still clasped in his tentacle like a prize he would take with him to the afterlife.
With the last of his strength, he brought the prize to his waiting jaws and savored his final meal.
9
Zander slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, stretching his bare body languidly. Ace still lay in bed, a serene look on her face in the dim light. He wanted to go back to her. But he’d woken suddenly before dawn, and he was restless as soon as his eyes opened. He’d lain there for several minutes before accepting he couldn’t go back to sleep.
His clothes were folded neatly by the door. Ace’s were thrown haphazardly in a pile nearby. He smirked as he retrieved his garments and pulled them on.
The new outfit he’d bought in Porto still smelled like the inn. He’d been wearing the same two outfits (one borrowed from the previous sailmaker) since he boarded The Valerian. With a pocket full of money and time to kill on land, he’d thought it was time he had something that felt like his own. He looked down at the white shirt, sturdy dark brown trousers, and black leather boots he wore. The boots weren’t quite broken in yet, but they were finely crafted and fit him well, the leather hugging his calves comfortably. With Bagu’s help, he’d managed to create two small leather sheaths in the inner lining, on the outside of either calf, to store his daggers.
He reached down to retrieve his new coat—an expensive black woolen frock with dark buttons, a silk-lined collar, and long panels that reached to his mid-thighs. He’d seen it in Porto and was immediately drawn to it. If he’d drawn a picture of the pirate he imagined himself to be in his wildest dreams, he would have been wearing a coat like that. But it felt too extravagant, too well-crafted for him.
Ace convinced him to try it on at least. The inner lining contained two hidden pockets of considerable size, and it fit him surprisingly well without alteration. He was just about to take it off and return it to the shop owner when he noticed Ace openly admiring how he looked in it, her eyes narrowed above a promising grin. Without another word, she retrieved a few coins from her pocket and paid for the coat, then pulled him back to the inn so she could peel it off him herself.
Zander buttoned the coat and opened and closed the door quietly, sneaking out to the main deck to catch the first glimpse of the sunrise. It was quiet on deck, save for soft snoring from Jubal, who was supposed to be on watch. The Valerian was still, its sails furled.
Zander walked to the forecastle and looked east, where the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon. He watched for several minutes before turning his gaze south.
He straightened. There were sails in the distance. He walked quickly to Jubal, waking him as he took the telescope from his pocket, and returned to the forecastle. Jubal sleepily mumbled something Zander didn’t hear as he put the telescope to his eye.
It was a ship. A large one, outfitted with serious artillery. It flew a Spanish flag, and beneath it, a flag containing a crest with a prominent eagle in its center. A feeling of foreboding overcame him when he realized it was headed directly toward them as they sat dead in the water.
Zander jogged past a drowsy Jubal to Ace’s quarters. The sound of the door opening woke her, and she sat up.
“There’s a ship on the horizon,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “To the south. It’s a Spanish vessel, and it’s aimed at The Valerian.”
Ace went rigid, one hand clutching the blanket at her chest.
