11. Gypsy

11

Gypsy

F or a long time, I thought I had Zayan Cagney figured out. That we were cut from the same cloth. I believed we understood each other better than anyone else ever could. But now? Now I realize I was wrong.

I stare at him, every nerve buzzing with a single, furious thought: I don’t understand him at all. Why the hell is he here? He doesn’t get to betray me—hand me over to my father and his crew, the only family I’ve ever known—and then turn around and act like my savior. He doesn’t get to stand here, looking at me with those stormy, moss-green eyes like I’ve claimed his soul.

He needs to back off.

“Hope you know you brought these men here to die,” I snarl through clenched teeth. “Because I’m going to kill them.”

None of this would be happening if it weren’t for him. Those merchants never would’ve had the balls to come after me if Zayan hadn’t led them straight to me. He brought them to my schooner, let them sail in my wake, and now they’re here, firing their guns—at me, at him, at Vinicola, too.

Zayan’s wrecked my plans twice now, and if I don’t get him out of my way, he’ll ruin them again. That much is certain—just as sure as the sun will set tonight and rise again tomorrow.

But how do you get a man like Zayan Cagney to leave when he’s nothing short of a maniac?

The way it felt when he threw himself into the abyss to catch me just moments ago—our bodies slamming together like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else—it made me want to scream. His warmth pressed against me, the heat of his skin against mine… and for what? Forgiveness? Redemption? I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he won’t find it here.

Still, it felt too good. Too familiar. My body remembers every inch of his, no matter how much I wish it didn’t.

“You’re the Captain, love,” he replies, an infuriating smirk plastered to his lips. “Do as you wish.”

Another wave of shots fires from the privateers’ ship, their bullets whizzing through the storm like a rain of steel. They’re not using the cannons yet—thank the gods—and stick to their pistols. But with the sea raging beneath us and the sway of both vessels, their shots are landing everywhere but where they’re supposed to.

They’re ruining my ship. Oh, fuck no.

I whip around, eyes narrowing on the nearest barrel tied to the mast. With a swift, practiced motion, I yank the rope free, the barrel crashing to the deck with a heavy thud. Without pausing, I roll it toward the portside, eyes locked on the privateer ship. My schooner’s already taken enough damage—I’ll be damned if I let them turn it into splinters.

“You’ve got about two seconds to help,” I snap at Zayan, not bothering to look at him. “Or get the hell out of my way.”

I hear him move behind me, but it’s not fast enough. A few more shots ping off the railing, one splintering the wood just inches from my hand. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to duck. I’m not hiding.

Fuck this.

Zayan reaches me just as I shove the barrel overboard, watching it bob in the water. “What’s your plan here, Gypsy?” he asks, his voice tight, like he actually cares.

Perhaps he got attached to the bastards on the merchant ship. I wouldn’t put it past him anymore. He’s a betrayer through and through. Since he already betrayed me, maybe now he’ll betray the piracy by siding with the cowards?

“I’m going to set that ship on fire,” I say, enjoying the thought. His eyebrows shoot up, and I catch a flicker of amusement in his eyes. I grab the next barrel, shoving it toward the edge. “Got a problem with that?”

He hesitates—just for a second. Then he’s at my side, helping me push the barrel. “As I said, you’re the Captain, love.”

I hate that he keeps calling me that. I hate everything it stands for. Everything he is.

“I’m not your love,” I snap. I try to keep my focus on the task at hand, but it’s hard when he’s so close. Too close. Even the storm doesn’t make me forget it.

Together, we shove the last of the barrels overboard. I pull my pistol from my belt, eyes locked on one of the floating barrels between the ships.

Zayan leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “And here I thought you couldn’t be more magnificent.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, and fire.

The shot cracks through the storm, and the barrel erupts in a burst of fire. The oil inside ignites with a roar, flames spreading across the water faster than I expected. The blaze leaps up the sides of the privateer ship, catching the crew off guard as they scramble to put it out.

I step back, a grim smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as chaos unfolds on their deck. But then, just as quickly, a wave crashes over, dousing the flames before they can do any real damage.

It was enough to create a distraction, though. Their captain loses his grip on the wheel, and the distance between our ships grows, widening as another wave slams into us.

Saltwater stings my eyes, my legs straining to keep me upright as exhaustion claws at my muscles. When my boot slips on the slick deck, seawater swirls beneath me, and the next thing I know, I’m crashing to the ground.

The deck meets me hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. For a moment, all I can hear is the roar of the storm and the creak of the ship beneath me. Salt and blood mingle in my mouth, my cheek burning where it scraped against the wood. But I don’t stay down long.

Before I can pull myself up, a rough hand grabs my arm, hauling me to my feet with unnecessary force. I whirl around, ready to snap at Zayan for touching me again, but the look in his eyes stops me.

His gaze is locked on me, those stormy green eyes burning with something that makes my skin crawl. Longing. That’s all I can focus on, the way it sends a crawling sensation through my body. Because if I let myself think about anything else—the warmth of his body pressed close, the scent of sea salt and sweat—I might feel that familiar pull, the one that tells me to stay, to lean into the heat he’s offering in this cold storm.

A part of me whispers that in this stormy sea, he’s the only warmth I’ll find. He’s the only one who came after me, who risked everything to catch up. Who else would do that now that I’ve broken ties with my crew?

But that part of me? Evil? It’s a sign I’ve had too much seawater, and it’s messing with my head.

“I’m going to repeat myself only once, Cagney, so you better remember.” I purse my lips, nostrils flaring. The waves crash against the ship, tossing us around. “I don’t need your help. Now, or ever.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His eyebrows furrow. “You think this is a coincidence? This storm? It’s anything but, Gypsy. And you know what caused it. You know damn well.”

Before I can shoot back, another blast of gunfire splits the air, shaking the ship beneath our feet. The privateers aren’t letting up. The fire might’ve thrown them off for a moment, but they’re already pulling themselves together. And then I see it—Vinicola, gripping the wheel like his life depends on it, nearly losing his hold as a bullet slams into the mast beside him.

“Miss Captain!” he shouts, voice cracking with panic. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it!”

I tear my eyes away from Zayan and charge toward the wheel, boots slipping on the slick deck.

“Move!” I bark at Vinicola, grabbing the wheel with both hands as he stumbles back, wide-eyed. I don’t have time to soothe him, to tell him he’s doing fine. The ship’s veering too far to port, and if I don’t get her back on course, we’re done for. My muscles scream as I haul on the wheel, forcing it to turn, fighting against the storm’s relentless pull.

But Zayan’s words… They stick. Worming their way into my thoughts like a splinter under the skin, no matter how hard I try to shake them loose.

Could it really be…? This storm, the sea thrashing us like a plaything…

No. That’s impossible.

I yank the wheel harder, gritting my teeth against the ache in my muscles. A quick glance to my right shows the privateer ship edging closer again. The storm doesn’t show a sign of clearing out any time soon either.

A sharp bolt of fear, hot and unwelcome, shoots through me.

“Vinicola!” I bark, “Get below deck and secure anything loose. If we capsize, we’ll need everything that floats.”

He glances nervously between me and Zayan. But he nods and scurries off, disappearing below as another round of gunfire cracks through the storm. Beside me, Zayan’s presence burns like a brand I can’t escape. His gaze hasn’t shifted—still fixed on me, with that same intensity he had earlier, like he knows he’s under my skin.

Of course he knows. Bastard.

I need more time. More distance. Anything to clear my head and figure out my next move. The compass presses hard against my thigh, its weight like an iron chain burning through the fabric of my pants. Heavy. Wrong.

“You know what you’re feeling,” Zayan cuts in, his voice low, almost smug. “It’s the compass, Gypsy. This storm—it’s not just a storm. The curse is real.”

I snarl, but I don’t turn to face him. “Shut up, Zayan. I’m not falling for your sea-leg nonsense.”

But the truth? It’s gnawing at me, deep in my gut. Because maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

No. No, I can’t even entertain the thought. I hate it. I hate what it means. If the compass is cursed, if this storm is more than just bad luck, then everything I’ve done, everything I’ve fought for—it’s all been for nothing.

It would make my father right. Kali, the crew, Old Betty—all of them, right. The gods, The Lady—they’d all be real, with their claws in me. And that? That would mean I have no control over my own fate. No say in what happens next.

I refuse to believe that.

So, I don’t care what this storm looks like, even if it’s the wildest, fiercest thing I’ve ever faced. I don’t care that we’re riding a ragged little schooner, barely holding together, with a warship breathing down our necks. None of it matters.

It’s all just coincidence. It has to be. Coincidence .

“If I hadn’t told Silverbeard about the compass, you would’ve sneaked it on board,” Zayan presses, his voice sharp. “This storm would’ve hit you and your crew. You might be reckless, but you’d never risk their lives on purpose. And I know you don’t believe in the tales, but look around! Does any of this seem normal to you?!”

“The compass is just a trinket,” I snap, though my heart’s racing faster than I can manage. I know my voice sounds thin, unconvincing. Even to me.

“For fuck’s sake, Gypsy! How long are you gonna say the same goddamn thing?” His eyebrows knit together, the frustration in his voice making something in me twist. “You think the sea just decided to go mad out of nowhere? This storm—it’s drawn to the compass, and you know it!”

The ship lurches violently, a massive wave crashing over the deck and drenching everything in its path. My hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles burn.

But it’s not just us fighting for survival. A scream rips through the storm—high, sharp, and too melodic to belong to one of the drunken merchants on the privateer ship.

Vinicola.

Zayan’s eyes meet mine, and in that split second, we both know. Vinicola went below deck, right where the water’s probably rushing in.

“Shit!” I curse under my breath, my gaze darting toward the hatch where Vinicola disappeared moments ago. A mixture of dread and fury grips me—if the ship’s taking on water, we’re in more trouble than I thought.

Zayan’s already moving before I can order him, the sharp clink of his boots on the wet wood barely audible over the storm. He heads straight for the hatch, yanking it open with a force that sends the hinges groaning. For a split second, he looks back at me, his expression unreadable but his eyes hard, like he’s daring me to stop him.

But I don’t. Not now. Not with Vinicola below deck, screaming like the world’s about to swallow him whole.

Damn fool. I’ve grown to like him.

“I’ll get him,” Zayan barks through the noise. For once, there’s only raw urgency in his tone. He disappears below deck, leaving me alone with the storm and the chaos around me.

Control? Right now, I don’t have a damn shred of it.

Another wave slams into the ship, nearly knocking me off my feet. I steady myself, jamming my boot hard against the deck, blinking against the salt spray and the rain. Through the sheets of water, I catch sight of the privateer ship again. Battered but holding strong, their hull a stubborn wreck that refuses to sink, even with the flames we sent tearing through them. They’re closing in again, like death on the wind, and I’ve got no idea what it’ll take to break them faster than this storm can break us.

I glance back at the hatch, half-expecting Zayan and Vinicola to emerge, but there’s no sign of them. The silence stretches, gnawing at my nerves. It must be hell down there, items flying and sliding, water gaining…

Fuck.

Suddenly, the hatch slams open, and Zayan hauls Vinicola up onto the deck, soaked and sputtering but alive.

“Water’s coming in fast,” Zayan shouts. “We need to start bailing or we’re going under.”

Vinicola, pale as a ghost, nods weakly. His eyes are wide, frantic, and I can tell he’s barely holding it together.

“Miss Captain,” he stammers, his voice thin. “I-I don’t know how long we can—“

“Shut up and grab a bucket,” I snap, cutting him off. “Both of you.”

Zayan’s already moving before I finish speaking, grabbing the nearest bucket and shoving it into Vinicola’s trembling hands. “You heard her, bard. Bail or drown.”

Vinicola nods, his fingers shaking as he grips the bucket like it’s a lifeline. I can see the panic etched on his face, but there’s nothing I could even think of to tell him. We’re running out of options.

The waves are higher, angrier, and the schooner’s groaning under the weight of it. Every gust of wind feels like it’s dragging us deeper into the abyss, and the privateers are still closing in.

I brace myself against the rail, heart pounding as I slip my hand into my pocket. My fingers brush against the cold metal of the compass, and for just a second, it catches the light—just a flicker in the dark.

Could something so small really be cursed? Could this little piece of gold be the reason we’re neck-deep in this shitstorm?

Fuck.

I’ve fought too hard for this. Bled for this. This compass is supposed to be my way out of all this—the key to my future, my freedom, my name. The one thing that could sever me from everything—the gods, the sea, the Lady my father worships like the fool he is.

But what if it kills me before I get a chance to use it?

“Zayan!” I call out, my voice hoarse. “You said this compass is the cause of all this!”

He stops bailing long enough to glance my way, eyes wild, hair slicked to his face with rain.

“Yes!” he yells back, barely audible over the crash of waves. “Get rid of it, Gypsy! Throw it into the sea!”

I feel bile rising in my throat as my mind races, weighing the odds. If he’s right, if this cursed compass really is the reason we’re all drowning, then tossing it could save us. But if he’s wrong... I’m throwing away the one thing that could set me free—all on a hunch .

I can’t believe I’m even considering this.

“Fine!” I snap, voice tight with anger. “But if this doesn’t work, Zayan, I swear—“

I don’t bother finishing the threat. No time. Instead, I wrench myself away from the wheel and kick it hard to port. The ship groans, lurching, and everyone slides, me included.

The privateer ship looms ahead, close enough that I can see the whites of their eyes. Their captain’s staring right at me, fear etched across his face. Zayan’s shouting something, but all I can focus on is the target in front of me.

“Now or never,” I mutter under my breath.

With a surge of frustration and determination, I hurl the compass with everything I’ve got. It spins through the air, catching a gleam of gold even in the chaos of the storm. For a split second, it almost looks beautiful—too beautiful for the hell it’s caused.

Then it hits the deck of the privateer’s ship, bouncing once on the wet wood, before landing right at the captain’s feet.

Time seems to stretch. The captain looks down at the cursed thing as if he’s just been handed his death warrant. My heart pounds.

And then everything changes.

A deafening crack splits the air, and lightning explodes from the sky, hitting the mast of the privateer’s ship with a force so violent that the ship shudders as if struck by a giant’s fist. The mast splinters, wood snapping like brittle bone, and the sails ignite, flames roaring to life even in the midst of the storm.

What the…?

I feel the shockwave of it, like the storm itself has been waiting for this moment to unleash its full fury. The wind picks up, screaming louder than before, whipping through my hair and slamming against the schooner so hard I stumble back, barely managing to keep my footing.

The privateer ship is in chaos. Men are shouting, scrambling to put out the flames, to right their ship, but it’s no use. The storm is too strong, the fire too wild. It’s nothing like what I gifted them. They’re truly finished.

And the worst part? All I feel is dread. Because this just now, was not normal. I don’t know what it was, but…

“Gypsy!” Zayan’s voice cuts through the chaos, pulling me back. “Get to the wheel!”

I shake off the shock, my body moving before my brain catches up, and rush back to the helm. My hands grip the wheel, slick with rain and sweat, forcing the schooner to veer away from the sinking privateer ship. The whole thing lurches, and then I hear it—a crack that sends my heart plummeting to my boots.

I look up. The mainmast is bending, groaning against the wind like it’s begging to snap.

Holy shit. If that thing goes, we’re done for.

We need to cut the sails, now. But if we do, we’re helpless—drifting in open water, waiting for the sea to finish us off. Not much better than drowning.

But then, just as we’re pulling away from the wreck, something shifts. The wind, the storm... it all just eases .

It happens in an instant.

“The storm’s letting up,” I mutter under my breath, almost not believing it.

Not that it’s over—no, not yet—but the wind’s died down enough that the schooner isn’t thrashing beneath my feet like it’s trying to throw me overboard. The waves, still heavy and wild, don’t feel as hungry anymore. Less like they’re trying to swallow us whole and more like they’re just pissed off.

I blink, trying to wrap my head around it. My gaze shoots toward the horizon, half-expecting the storm to rear its ugly head again and knock us flat. But it doesn’t. Just the soft hiss of rain now, and the schooner’s wood groaning like it’s as confused as I am, adjusting to the sudden calm. The mast holds.

What the hell just happened?

“We’re making it!” Vinicola’s voice comes from near the hatch, rough and shredded from shouting through the storm. Not that smooth, bard-like tone he carried when I met him. He sounds almost like a sailor now, if you can believe it. “Oh, by the holy wine of my godmother, we’re actually making it!”

I glance at him. A shaky grin splits his face, the relief palpable in his wide, silver-blue eyes.

“Don’t celebrate too soon,” I mutter. Without the thunder’s roar, my words seem to carry.

Zayan moves next to me. His hand reaches for the railing, his moss-green eyes searching mine, like he’s looking for something. A question, maybe. Or worse—a damn expectation. Like now, after all of this, I owe him some kind of acknowledgment. Like I’m supposed to admit out loud what I’ve just seen.

“You’ve seen it,” Zayan says, proving it to be true. “Do you believe it now?”

My stomach twists. There’s a pull at the edges of everything I am—everything I thought I knew. It’s uncomfortable. I hate it.

“Believe what?” I ask, refusing to look at him. I turn away, focusing on the horizon instead, where the sky’s still thick with the remnants of the storm.

“Come on, Gyp—“

“Coincidence. That’s all.”

Even as I say it, the words taste bitter, like I’ve just spat out something I don’t believe. The compass… the storm… the way the wind shifted the moment I tossed it away. It doesn’t sit right, but I can’t—no, I won’t—give it more thought. Not here. Not now.

Instead, I grip the wheel harder, steering us through the now-calmer waters. The clouds thin, revealing patches of clear sky. The wind eases into a brisk breeze, and the waves settle into a choppy but manageable rhythm.

I hate it. I hate all of it. The sea might have always been fickle and wild, but this? This is something else. Something I can’t explain, and I despise the way it makes me feel.

Then, as the horizon shifts, an island appears up ahead. A knot tightens in my chest.

I don’t recognize this island. I don’t know where the hell we are. But one thing’s clear. We have to head for it.

We don’t have a choice.