A dead Jackie might’ve made my life easier, but the thought of murder sickened me. If I started down that path, killing to reclaim my throne, I wasn’t sure I’d know where to stop. That was how tyrants were made—one dark and violent action at a time, all the while making excuses about ends justifying means and sacrifices made for the whole of the good. Eventually those excuses would become lies to rationalize evil, and once I reached that point, there would be no coming back. I would’ve already lost myself. “I only want to go home and try to be a good queen, without outside interference.”
“There will always be interference. As long as you’re the last of your kind, there will always be someone who wants to take what you have.”
“So why not let that someone be you, right?”
He shook his head and backed away from the rail. “We’ll never agree on this.”
“What made you this way?” I followed him down to our cabin to avoid the sudden rain and to prevent him from escaping my questions. “What made you so unyielding? So obdurate?”
He snorted as he slouched on his bunk. “You’re one to talk.”
“I don’t really know you that well. Not the real you.” I crawled into my bunk, the ship rocking us back and forth as rain pattered on our portholes.
“There’s nothing much to say. I told you my parents died when I was young. I grew up taking care of myself and my sister.”
“You’re a survivor.”
He shrugged and picked at his cuticles. “I guess you could say that.”
“You loved your parents?”
A hurt expression flashed across his face. “Of course I did.”
“You miss them?”
“As much as you miss your own father, I’m sure.”
“There was a time, after his death, when I would have sold my soul to get my father back.”
“You think that’s what I’ve done? Sold my soul to get the things I want?” He punched his pillow, molding it into a soft mound to cradle his head. He stretched out and stared the ceiling. “You’re trying to rationalize me, make me fit into your understanding of the world in a way that makes you feel more comfortable. But you’d be wrong to do that.”
“You could do a lot of good in this world.”
“Who says I won’t?”
A knock on our doorjamb cut through the heavy mood. Clarice stood in the doorway, wearing a wary smile. “Anscombe wants to know if you’re going to come clean up the galley.”
Nodding, I pushed myself off my bunk. “I’m coming.”
“They’ll be playing cards after you’ve finished. It’s likely the only entertainment you’ll find for now.”
“Thank you, Captain. I’ll consider it.”
Clarice nodded and retreated down the hall.
“With a little Magic, I could have the galley cleaned in an instant.” Despite his offer, he made no effort to follow me, and his protest seemed halfhearted. “A queen shouldn’t have to wash dishes.”
“A queen shouldn’t have to do a lot of things, but sometimes there’s a lot of satisfaction in a little bit of hard work.”
***
By the time I’d dried and stowed away the last dish from lunch, the storm had disappeared and the ocean had calmed. But the thought of returning to Jackie made me clench my teeth so tightly my jaw ached. The more time I spent with him, the more I thought about what was to come and all the things that could, and likely would, go wrong.
Being with Jackie also compounded my grief over losing Gideon. Again.
I hated not knowing what had happened to him and Brigette. Not knowing if Niffin and Malita had escaped Isolas without the Council’s interference. I’d told Gideon the not-knowing was the hardest part of being separated from him, and here I was, proving myself right—cold sweats, twisty gut, and all.
In need of distraction, I climbed to the deck. Although Clarice was absent, her crew had set up a table and chairs in the sunshine. They’d dealt out cards, betting chips, and cups of something foul smelling poured from an earthenware jug.
I pointed at the jug. “Is that liquor or turpentine for cleaning the ship?”
“Some of both?” Leo was the Velox’s all-purpose handyman. A slouchy hat covered his thin red hair, and his face was a contour map of lines and wrinkles. He pointed at the empty chair beside him. “Care to join?”
“What’s the buy-in?” Clarice’s sailors never played simply for fun. There were always stakes—the higher, the better.
Leo’s gaze narrowed as he scanned the details of my undoubtedly expensive dress—another from Jackie’s collection. His inspection paused at my hair. He waggled a finger at my left temple. “That.”
I patted the comb I’d fastened in my hair that morning. I’d found it in the steamer trunk while searching for a ribbon to tie around the end of my braid. Inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the comb had caught the afternoon sunlight, and its rainbow nacre reminded me of the sheen on my Thunder Cloak. A Thunder Cloak I’d discarded on the basilica’s beach. I cursed myself for letting Taviano talk me into leaving it behind.
I removed the comb and presented it to Leo. “Deal me in.”
Not only did he give me a share of the cards and chips, but he also poured me a shot of his homemade brew. I wrinkled my nose but gulped it down. If I drank enough, I might temporarily forget all my fears and regrets. I might also open myself to Jackie’s manipulations and dampen my connection to the storms—risks I couldn’t afford, not even for a few welcome moments of numbness.
Instead of offering my cup when Leo poured the next round of drinks, I waved him off and focused on my cards. Although if I lost the game and forfeited my fancy hair comb, I wouldn’t cry. Gambling away Jackie’s fineries appealed to my sense of defiance. It was a small and petty rebellion, but I didn’t care.
We played until the booze ran out, which was around the same time Clarice demanded that everyone get back to work. By then I had lost a second hair comb and a pair of slippers. Anscombe said he was saving them to give to his daughter when he returned home—somewhere on a small island off the southern coast of Agridan.
Still hoping to avoid Jackie, I asked for a chore or task to keep me occupied. Leo lent me a huge fishing pole from his personal collection and a bit of salted fish from the galley for bait. “How about you try catching us something fresh for supper?” he suggested.
