Chapter 20
The setting sun was growing weary in the evening sky. Jack and the Brinemarch fleet had steadily made ground on the Silent Tide as it attempted to flee north. Jack could feel their capture in his hands and at this rate, he thought they could launch their assault by morning. One more dinner and he would have the princess, the gem, and his misfit of a brother.
Jack's watchman called out, "Captain, the Widdings want a word."
Jack huffed under his breath. "What the fuck do those prudes want?"
"They've split." Silvia's voice, sharp and clear, cut across the narrowing gap of water between the brigs. "Two ships. Look for yourself."
"Two ships? Get me an spyglass!" Looking at the Silent Tide, there it was, a small sloop hugging its side like a fish to a shark.
"A sloop." he breathed, the word a low, venomous curse. He lowered the glass, his scowl deepening into something truly fearsome. "Weasel? Care to explain this?"
"They didn't sir." Jack thrust the spyglass into Trudy's arms. "Well they do now." Jack snarled.
Turning back to the Widding ship. Silvia stood poised at her rail, a statue of cool composure awaiting his reaction. His mind raced, charting the tactical nightmare. A swift sloop that could vanish into the night, and a powerful brig that could gut a single pursuer. They had to choose. And they had to be right.
He cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice booming over the slap of waves against the hull. "They sent the princess away last time! My guess is she's on the sloop, trying to slip our net. We run it down, we have her by morning!"
Silvia didn't respond immediately. He could almost see the gears turning in her head, a methodical, patient process that grated on his impulsive nature. Her voice, when it came, was measured. "Perhaps. But why split now? In two hours, darkness would have hidden their maneuver. This feels… performative. A decoy to divide our strength."
"Decoy or not, if we let it slip, it will get lost to the mainland. At least with the brig, we know they will hit a hard boundary. We already know she's afraid of the Kraken lane. The fogs will force her North to the Hinckian fleet, or circle them straight back to us." Jack grew more forceful with every word.
She was silent for a long moment, her gaze drifting from him to the horizon where the two paths diverged. Finally, she gave a curt, almost reluctant nod. "As you wish then, Comptor. I can see no fault with your logic, perhaps they are more panicked than strategic in their actions. But a compromise: we dispatch our third ship to shadow the Silent Tide from the south. It keeps the brig hemmed in, unable to double back without a fight. "
*
The chase was a brutal, exhilarating thrill. The Goldhair, built for relentless pursuit, ate up the sea miles with superior angle and winds. It only took a few hours to reach the sloop. Even under the shield of night, the sloop struggled to hide in the moonlight.
"They've turned north, sir!" the watch called down.
Jack's lips curled with excitement. "Grape shot! Prepare a broadside! Let's clip this little bird's wings!" The order sent a ripple of eager movement through his crew. The gunners worked with a feverish rhythm, the deadly promise of violence humming in the air.
He gestured Trudy over. "Come here, Weasel. Don't blink. A captain's finest moment." He drew a deep breath, the intoxicating smell of salt and gunpowder filling his lungs. His eyes, glinting with reflected moonlight, locked onto the helpless vessel. The world narrowed to the arc of his arm. "Ready… FIRE!"
Several cannons recoiled as their shot ripped through the sloop, their smoke hanging in the air before revealing a collapsing ship.
"Ahhh, now that's a feeling! Told you I was born for this, Weasel." he gloated, clapping a trembling Trudy on the shoulder.
But his triumph curdled as they drew alongside the crippled vessel. Boarding hooks snagged the rail. His crew swarmed over, their shouts reporting back empty holds, stripped compartments. And then, there was the lone figure. A man, naked and shivering, shackled brutally to the captain's wheel. The smell of fear, thick on him.
The defiant man from the hunters, once captain, had been given his namesake back. This time Riley gave him less favorable terms, "Sail west and hope you make it to land before anyone else finds you." He had failed expectedly and now faced the wrath of Jack.
Jack stormed aboard, his boots thudding on the bloody deck. "Are you the only one?!" he demanded, his voice a whip-crack.
The man flinched, his body a map of fresh bruises and old failures. "Aye. Just me." His voice was a ragged whisper.
"The ship's empty, Captain!" a gunner confirmed. "Cleaned out."
Jack's gaze returned to the shackled man, cold fury replacing the heat of battle. "So. Who are you?"
"Was part of a band of hunters looking for the princess. They found her alright. Alongside two coldblooded killers."
"And yet you're alive? What type of Captain are you?"
"The crew mutinied and I was imprisoned. Then just for sundown, that beast of a woman tied me to the wheel. 'Sail west and hope for the best'." He spoke with venom and hate.
"You should have fought." Jack stated, his voice devoid of all warmth. He began to methodically prep his flintlock pistol, the click-clack of the mechanism obscenely loud in the silence. "No true captain surrenders."
"Aye." the man rasped, a pathetic attempt at dignity in his final moments. "But I've never been too brave."
"The princess. She's on the brig?" Jack asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Aye."
Jack raised the pistol. He paused, not out of mercy, but to let the man fully comprehend the absolute failure of his existence.
CRACK!
The man's body slumped against the wheel, his body dangling unnaturally.
Jack exhaled slowly, the smoke from the barrel curling away on the breeze. He turned to a pale and shaking Trudy. "Looks like you were right about the princess, Weasel." His eyes then found the approaching lanterns of the Widding ship. "And Silvia… Silvia was right about the sloop."
All heat, all anger, drained from him, leaving behind something far more dangerous: a chilled, crystalline determination.
"Burn it." he commanded, his voice flat. "Signal the Widdings. The Abyss and their bitches have nowhere left to run." He didn't wait to watch the tar-soaked rags be tossed onto the deck. He was already back on the Gifted Heart, his mind not on the fire behind him, but on the darkness ahead, and the reckoning that awaited within it.
Chapter 21
Thomas grabbed his bowl of porridge and headed topside and to the back of the ship for some reprieve. The night's air had a crisp to it. To his surprise, someone already sat where he was headed. The darkness was near total, broken only by the shimmering path of moonlight on the water. A lone figure was already there, a small shape huddled against the rail.
As he drew closer, the silhouette resolved into familiar features. "Aaliyah? I didn't recognize you." A soft chuckle escaped him, his voice a low rumble in the quiet night.
She had swapped her bloodied dress for some sailor's garb that was a bit too large for her slim figure. "Hi, Thomas." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Like the fit?" She held her arms out, the oversized cuffs flapping comically.
"Do you mind if I join you? I need some fresh air."
She gestured to the space beside her. "Be my guest. How's the shoulder?"
He looked down at it, the heat still palpable, "It's getting better. Hayden's optimism is more stubborn than the wound is." They shared a quiet laugh that felt fragile, a delicate thing that quickly dissolved into the surrounding silence. For a long moment, the only sounds were the creak of the ship, the whisper of the wind in the rigging, and the gentle shush of water against the hull.
Then, a roar of laughter and the thumping of a dozen boots on wood erupted from the hatchway, a wave of raucous energy crashing up from below. Thomas glanced at Aaliyah. "They're fun aren't they?" he mused, his voice barely above a whisper. "They could be sailing straight into the jaws of hell and still find a reason to sing a shanty about it." He shook his head, a mixture of bewilderment and reluctant admiration in his tone.
The noise swelled again, punctuated by Riley's distinctive, gravelly shout of triumphant joy. They sat together in their shared bubble of quiet, two outsiders bound by circumstance, listening to the life of the ship they were now a part of, yet not quite of.
Thomas closed his eyes, simply feeling the cool air on his skin. The last few days had been a blur and only now could he start to process everything that had happened. And he wasn't the only one. The woman beside him was a princess who was supposed to be at her wedding feast, not wrapped in stolen clothes on a pirate brig, a world away from everything she'd ever known.
"Thomas?" Aaliyah's voice rang with a vulnerability that made him open his eyes. She seemed even smaller now, dwarfed by the bulky shirt, her knees drawn up to her chest. "Have you… um… had you ever killed someone before?"
The question caught him off guard. His mind had been so busy with himself he didn't even consider her. "No, I've seen blood a million times on crates and linens at the warehouse, but that was the first time…" his voice trailed off, not able to say the full sentence outloud.
"Oh." She looked down, picking at a loose thread on her trousers. "Okay."
The silence stretched, filled with the weight of the unspoken. Thomas stirred his porridge, the simple action grounding him.
Aaliyah broke the quiet again, her voice stronger now, edged with a need to understand. "And how do you feel now?"
He'd been searching for that answer himself. "We didn't really have a choice, did we?" It was as much a statement as a question.
She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the dark water. "No. I suppose not."
Another pause, this one more charged. Aaliyah's next words were barely a whisper, but they cut through everything. "What about when we do have a choice? I mean, that's what pirates do, right?"
"Maybe, but maybe not all pirates. We didn't kill the hunters on the sloop. And maybe it's still not our choice, not really. When the rich hoard all the wealth, is it not our responsibility to fight for our share?"
"Thomas, I am the rich…"
"Are you?" he sparked back. "My family is too, but I am not. Not anymore. I left it."
Aaliyah strained her voice. "What a privilege that must be. To just… leave it behind. What of me? I am still a token to be traded to the highest bidder. Tell me they won't just cash me in to save their own necks from a noose."
Thomas understood then. This was the real wound. Not the killing, but the powerlessness. He asked her the one thing she probably hadn't heard in a very long time. "And what do you want, Aaliyah?"
She leaned in suddenly, the space between them closing, Now eye-to-eye, she dropped into a confidential whisper. "I killed them because I had to. But when I did… I felt powerful. I felt… free."
They were so caught in the raw honesty of the moment, the magnetic pull of her confession, that they failed to hear the din below decks finally quiet. They didn't notice the heavy, familiar footfalls approaching.
Riley stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture relaxed but her eyes missing nothing. Her tone was friendly, but it carried an unspoken weight, a subtle claim of territory. "Am I interrupting something?"
They jolted apart. Aaliyah didn't hesitate. She stood smoothly, her expression shifting from vulnerable intensity to regal composure in a heartbeat. The moment was shattered. "Goodnight, Thomas. Riley." Her voice was cold, a dignified warning as she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the deck, leaving the two of them in a silence that now felt charged and uneasy.
Chapter 22
The early morning sun bled across the horizon, staining the ocean in hues of bruised violet and fire-orange. Aboard the Silent Tide, the mood was as heavy as the humid air.
Finneas scanned the sea behind them, his calloused fingers scratching at his red beard. "We didn't lose the tail. The other two caught up."
Captain leaned against the rail, her posture deceptively calm. "It wasn't going to last forever, Finneas. We're too heavy anyways, especially after picking up that damned sloop."
Riley's voice was a low thrum of tension. "How long?"
Finneas pressed the spyglass to his eye. "It would've been nice to make it to night, but given we didn't break the pursuit… my guess is they'll be on us by dusk."
"Sooner." Captain's announcement was final, her confidence a stark contrast to the daunted looks exchanged among the crew. "We'll need to be at half sails when it's time. We need to prepare the ship and the men. It'll happen this afternoon."
Finneas looked to her with tired, skeptical eyes. "And we're sure this is our plan?"
"Finn, you're a numbers man. Do you have an expectation to win a three-to-one head-on?" She snapped her gaze over to Thomas. "If your brother catches us, what's the outcome?"
"Death." Thomas responded grimly, his voice hollow. "And a painful one at that. He is a special type of cruel."
"Exactly. Move forward with the plan. We hold off as long as possible, but then it gets done." Her tone entertained no argument.
Thomas stared at his feet, feeling the weight of the crew's anxious stares. They knew a storm was coming, but not its shape. It was vital they remained in the dark until the last possible moment.
*
Ever approaching and aboard the Gifted Heart, Jack's world had narrowed to the rhythm of flesh and Lexi's squeaky, eager cries. He drove into her, pinning her against the cabin wall with the force of his thrusts. He was a tempest, all unruly passion and raw power, a stark contrast to Trudy's skittish compliance.
He fisted a hand in her hair, wrenching her head back to expose the pale line of her throat. His other hand wrapped around it, not to choke, but to possess, his thumb pulsing against her frantic pulse. She gasped, her squeaky voice dissolving into a panting rasp, a wild smile playing on her lips as his grip tightened.
He clawed at the fabric of her shirt, his hand finding the generous curve of her breast beneath, squeezing until she cried out, rocking back into him with abandon. Just as he felt the coil of his climax about to snap, she twisted out of his grasp with surprising strength.
Jack stood for a stunned second, his grin a volatile dance of frustration and sheer lust. Then she was on him, her small hands shoving him backward onto the narrow cot. He let her, his curiosity piqued, his cock aching for her next move.
She climbed atop him, a wicked gleam in her eye, and presented herself to him.Her hips arched in the air, her wetness glistening in the low lantern light just inches from his face.
She lowered herself in one fluid motion, the rhythm deepening until he gripped the sheets and gasped her name.
Her moans vibrated through him as she worked, her breasts swaying against his legs. One of her hands cupped his balls, massaging him in time with the ruthless rhythm of her throat. She didn't stop, didn't slow, until he was thoroughly, completely hers, shouting her name as he emptied himself into that talented, devouring heat.
*
Out on the deck, invigorated and smelling of sex, Jack boasted with renewed vigor. "Lads, it's a beautiful day! How 'bout we catch a princess?" A disheveled Lexi joined him, a smug smile on her face. He grabbed a possessive handful of her ass, the display happening just feet from a watchful, nervous Trudy.
"Sir, we're on a good pace. We should be on them before sundown." his first mate reported.
"Great news." Jack's eyes gleamed. "Get me aboard with Silvia."
*
In the quiet of Silvia's captain's quarters, Jack sat with an air of unearned triumph. The room smelled of polished wood, fine wine, and her subtle, expensive perfume.
"Jack." she said, her voice cool against his feverish energy. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She poured two cups of a rich, dark red wine, her movements economical and precise.
"You were right about the sloop. Some hunter cast out to die."
A perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. It wasn't like him to concede a point. She waited, letting the silence stretch, forcing him to fill it.
"You think of me so lowly?" he chuckled, a rough sound. "All I'm saying is that you were smart. You have a good head for strategy. Which is why I know you'll be open-minded to what I say next.
Silvia took a long, deliberate drink of her wine, her piercing eyes never leaving his. She was making him wait, establishing control in the only way she could here, on her ship.
"We had a deal before we left port. It's abnormal to be negotiating hours before battle, Comptor."
"Yes, of course! And we will honor that deal." He leaned forward, the wood of his chair creaking. "Think of this as an addendum. We board first. My crew secures your niece's safety. No need for your men to risk themselves until the top deck is ours. My crew extracts her, completely unharmed."
Silvia swirled the wine in her glass, considering. It was a surprisingly… noble offer. Or a clever one. "And for this added risk, what is it that you want?"
"That?" He waved a dismissive hand. "A favor. From me to you. For sound strategy and… friendship." The word felt strange on his tongue. "No, the deal I speak of is this. We both know this marriage between Widding and Hinckia will put Sandia in a precarious place. The two kingdoms could bypass us altogether."
"You already knew this. That's why your payment is more than generous." Her voice was dry, unimpressed.
A flash of impatience crossed his features, quickly buried. "One payment won't nearly cover the loss of trade. But you still have one very, very large problem. Pirates." His grin turned devilish. "They'll claim half of every shipment you try to send to Hinckia. Spoils that inevitably find their way back to my family at Brinemarch. And with our own trade hurt, we'd almost be… forced to encourage their pillaging."
Silvia's knuckles whitened on her glass. She refilled it, the act a deliberate mask for her displeasure at the blatant threat.
"Or." he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, "you could have all your goods safely insured. I know your people hate pirates. So cut them out. Promise Sandia your best, most legitimate trade routes. Remove the threat altogether, shorten shipping costs tenfold. The Goldhairs take all the risk to get the goods to Hinckia. All I ask is that Brinemarch is your first choice."
"Pirates or smugglers?" she asked, her tone icy. She finished her wine in one final, decisive gulp. "Save Aaliyah, unharmed, and I can make it happen. But only if she is returned without a scratch. If there is no wedding, there is no deal."
Jack raised his cup, a victor's gleam in his intense eyes. "To love, friendship, and powerful alliances!"
Chapter 23
The sun cast long, lazy shadows across the deck of the Gifted Heart, but the atmosphere was anything but relaxed. Jack stormed back from his cabin, his boots pounding a rhythm of pure frustration. "What in the seven hells is it now?" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the humid air.
"The wall sir."
Jack's intense gaze followed his first mate's finger, and for the first time in a long while, his arrogant confidence faltered. There it was. A monolith of swirling, impenetrable grey, a sheer vertical face of fog that stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction, blotting out the blue sky and swallowing the afternoon sun into a colorless, dead light. It stood like a terrible god, a solid barrier between the world he knew and a myth made manifest.
"My oh my." he breathed in awe. He'd heard the stories, of course. He'd dismissed them as superstitious nonsense, tales to frighten greenhorns. But he could not deny the evidence before his eyes, a wall of nightmares that defied all natural law.
Trudy's jaw hung open. "Doesn't that mean… we're in a Kraken lane right now?"
"Shut up, weasel." Jack snapped, but the usual venom was diluted by his own disbelief. He snatched the spyglass from a nearby sailor.
The watchman's call was strained, laced with a confusion that mirrored Jack's own. "Sir, there's more… The Silent Tide… they've pulled their masts."
Jack lowered the glass, his brow furrowed in utter bewilderment. The brigantine was a stark silhouette against the monstrous grey. And sure enough, its sails were being furled, the great canvas wings drawn in. "Well, what the bloody fuck does that mean?"
He looked over to see Silvia's typically calm demeanor also taken aback by the deep greys ahead.
*
Aboard the Silent Tide, the crew worked quietly and diligently. The wall loomed, a silent judge, its muted grey light washing over the deck. Every sound, the creak of a rope, the scuff of a boot, seem unnaturally loud.
The hunters-turned-crew stood their ground, though their faces were pale. They were being secured, not as prisoners, but as participants. Ropes were looped around waists and lashed to masts, to railings, to anything solid. Their hands were bound firmly in front of them. This was their trial by fog, their final test of loyalty. All but two had accepted the gamble. Those dissenters now imprisoned below, their fate deferred.
Captain moved through the preparations with a calm that felt infectious. She stopped beside Riley, her voice low. "How's the crew?"
Riley's hope was a sharp, fierce thing in the gloom. "They're skeptical of legends. But they're your crew. They trust you.
"And how are you?" the Captain pressed, her eyes searching Riley's face.
Riley's gaze didn't waver as she looked toward the wall. "They haven't seen it. But I have. The power was undeniable."
Near the bow, Thomas worked with a focused intensity, a heavy rope secured around his waist. Lowering himself down, he found his soul being judged by their figurehead, the Heartcaged Maiden. Her wooden body had guided the ship through perilous nights and bloody fights. Now with the Moon Gem, inserted into the metal cage of her chest cavity, she would continue guiding them.
Her iris-less eyes watching his every move. His fingers, slick with sea spray, fumbled with the small door on the iron cage that surrounded her. With a final, metallic click, it swung open. He reached in, removing a small iron holder once used for offerings, and cast it into the sea.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He reached under his shirt, pulling the heavy leather pouch from around his neck. The cords felt like a noose and a lifeline all at once. He settled the pouch inside the cage, his movements precise. Then, with a reverence that felt both strange and necessary, he drew out the Moon Gem.
Its white light was a physical shock, a silent explosion that cut through the oppressive grey, casting long, dancing shadows across the deck and making the crew gasp. A mysterious, soothing heat radiated from it, warming Thomas's chilled hands.
He took a steadying breath, his entire world narrowing to the gem, the cage, and the dark water below. One slip, and it was lost forever. Following Finneas's careful instructions, he twisted the gem into the small, custom-built holster mounted inside the cage. It settled into place with a satisfying thunk. He swung the iron door shut, the sound final, and secured it with a heavy, old-looking lock.
He pulled himself back onto the deck, his legs slightly shaky, and met the Captain's gaze. He gave a single, firm nod, a cheery, triumphant smile breaking through his nervousness.
A moment later, the order was given. The Silent Tide's masts dropped, the sails catching what wind there was, and the ship began to glide forward with a renewed, potent purpose.
*
"They're moving," a voice called from the Gifted Heart's crow's nest.
Jack watched, the spyglass pressed so hard against his face it hurt. The brigantine was moving, but at half-mast, crawling toward the impossible wall. They were now well within cannon range. Twenty minutes, maybe less, and he could have rained hell upon them.
He called across the narrowing gap of water to the Widding ship, his voice tight. "Surely they won't. It's a fucking death sentence. They have to know that."
Silvia's reply was cool, but a sharp undercurrent of alarm ran beneath it. "Jack, we can't let them in. We need to call off the pursuit. Now."
He shook his head, a grim, disbelieving smirk on his face. "It's too late for that, Silvia."
They all watched, a captive audience to a madness they could not comprehend. The Silent Tide glided forward, a tiny sliver of wood and hope, and touched the edge of the wall.
The fog did not simply part. It opened. Like a great, grey mouth, it peeled back, swallowing the ship whole. The fog swirled around the hull, caressing it, claiming it. For a breathtaking, terrifying moment, they could see the entire silhouette of the brigantine wrapped in the eerie, silent embrace of the mist.
Then, as the stern finally cleared the point of entry, the fog collapsed in on itself. It sealed shut with silent wisps.
If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, there would have been no evidence it had ever happened. No ripple. No disturbance. Just a smooth, grey, endless wall of nothingness.
The Silent Tide was gone.