15. Gypsy

15

Gypsy

I know what I saw.

Just moments ago, a monkey—brown, scraggly, with a grin crooked enough to make me want to knock it straight—jumped from the trees on my right. Landed not even a foot away, bold as a damn thief. It winked. I swear to every cursed god I have never believed in, it winked at me. Then it jumped back into the trees on my left like it had all the time in the world.

And clutched in its filthy, greedy little fingers? My compass. That golden, shining piece of hell I bought off Old Betty. The one I threw overboard during the storm to rid myself of its… pull. The very same compass. No other.

That little bastard had it clenched tight, mocking me.

And oh, I don’t doubt for a second it was mocking me. The way it stared me dead in the eye, like it knew exactly what it was holding. Its gaze wasn’t some innocent, animal curiosity—it had that clever, wicked glint. The glint that says, “I know what this is worth to you.” The way its sharp little teeth showed in a smirk, like it was daring me to do something about it. It wasn’t just a monkey. No, this thing was laughing at me.

For a second, I couldn’t even think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do a damn thing except stare, slack-jawed, while my brain tried to catch up.

It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense. The compass was gone, swallowed by the waves, cursed to the depths, where I was sure it’d stay forever. But here it was, held by a monkey, of all things. Mocking me.

Of all the ways the world could choose to mess with me, this—this had to be the cruelest. Perhaps even worse than sending Cagney my way.

I couldn’t shake the image from my mind, the compass gleaming in that creature’s hands like it belonged to it. Like it had claimed it the second I let it slip beneath the surface of the waves.

And now? Now, as my legs burn and leaves whip across my face, I’m running through the jungle like a woman possessed. All my fear is gone, all my regrets about the past erased. Nothing matters. Nothing except that damn monkey.

The sweat trickles down my spine, hot and sticky, mixing with the grime and salt caked to my skin. Bugs whine in my ears, a maddening hum that I barely hear over the pounding of my heart. My lungs scream for air, but I keep pushing, forcing my body to move faster. The burn in my muscles is like fire, and still, it’s not enough.

“Come back here, you little bastard,” I snarl through clenched teeth.

“Gypsy! Wait!” Zayan’s voice calls out from behind me, probably five feet back. Then, further behind, Vinicola’s voice pipes up—something muffled through the underbrush. I barely register it. The compass is all that matters.

“Fuck! Vinicola, keep the fuck up with me!” Zayan yells. It almost makes me slow down. Almost.

“I’m trying!” comes the bard’s voice, even quieter now, lost in the dense jungle. But I don’t stop running. I can’t.

The jungle tears at me like it’s trying to pull me back—twigs clawing at my arms, roots snaring my ankles. But I ignore the sting of fresh cuts, the slick warmth of blood mixing with sweat. I’ve bled before. I’ll bleed again. It’s nothing compared to the gnawing desperation in my gut.

I spot that flicker of brown fur ahead, just a glimpse through the thick green leaves, and my chest tightens. That little bastard. My fingers tighten around the hilt of Zayan’s blade. I swear, if I get close enough, I’ll slit its throat myself.

Suddenly, my ankle catches on something slick—a dew-soaked leaf, cold and slippery against my skin. The world tilts beneath me, and for a heartbeat, I’m weightless. My feet slip out from under me, and I crash down hard, catching myself just before my face hits the dirt. Pain explodes in my wrist.

I scramble back to my feet, leaping over a fallen log and nearly losing my balance again. The ground here is uneven, bumpy from the roots.

I can’t think of a fucking worse place to chase a wild animal.

I leap over a fallen log, nearly stumbling on the landing but managing to keep my balance. The forest is getting thicker, the trees closer together, their roots twisting like traps ready to trip me up. But I keep going, faster now. The sounds of rustling branches, slithering creatures, and… water.

Water .

Somewhere ahead, the sound of rustling branches and quick little feet pushes me faster. I can hear it—water. The steady rush of it just beyond the trees. My throat tightens with thirst, the dryness in my mouth almost choking me. When was the last time I drank anything?

Oh, right. The coconut water. Feels like way longer than that.

But fuck. A little thirst isn’t going to stop me.

I can see the water now, the glint of it through the trees. The monkey’s heading straight for it, weaving through the underbrush like it knows exactly where to go. My body screams for rest, but I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Not until that compass is back in my hands.

If it takes me all night, I’ll get it back. I’ll cut down anything in my way to make sure of it.

Letting go of that compass was a mistake—a regret that’s been gnawing at me ever since. I don’t care about the lightning strike that followed after I threw it onto the privateers’ ship. It could have been a coincidence. The pirate world only knows that the sea is a fickle and changing thing.

I don’t know how the compass ended up here, on this island, but if I let it slip through my fingers again, it’ll be the end of me.

Unless... unless what I saw was just a trick of the light. A yellowed leaf, a flash of gold that wasn’t really the compass. The jungle’s heat plays tricks. Thirst twists the mind. Maybe I’m chasing a shadow, going mad from the heat and the hunger, chasing ghosts that aren’t there.

Unless what I thought I saw was just a yellowed flower or a withering leaf gleaming golden, not the compass. Unless I’m going mad from the heat and thirst.

If that’s true, I might as well dig my own grave right here in this tangled mess of vines and roots. Separated from the others, alone in this cursed jungle, I’d be as good as dead. But I shove the doubt aside, force it down like bile rising in my throat.

Because just as the thought begins to settle in, the monkey stops running. It perches on a low-hanging branch, its beady little eyes glittering with mischief. My breath catches. Its tiny hand raises something, and my heart skips a beat.

It is the compass.

It’s really there, glinting in the light, the golden surface catching a single ray of sunlight that slices through the canopy.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I meet the monkey’s gaze. It stares back. And for a brief, absurd moment, I swear there’s something like pity in its gaze. But pity doesn’t get me the compass. Action does.

“Give it back,” I pant, my voice barely a whisper, strained and raw. The monkey cocks its head to one side, like it’s considering my plea. I stretch my hand out, fingers beckoning it closer. It blinks.

How the hell did it come to this? My entire future hanging on the whims of a damned monkey. But here I am, forcing a smile, cooing at the little shit like it’s a child and not an impish thief.

“Hey there, matey,” I croon, my voice lifting into a sickly-sweet tone that makes my stomach churn. “That shiny little thing? It’s mine, not yours. Hand it over, and we’ll call it even, yeah?”

The monkey’s eyes narrow, and I swear its lips twitch. It shifts from foot to foot.

“Come on now,” I coax, the words dripping like honey despite the storm of irritation building inside me. “Give it back, and I won’t chase you anymore. I promise.”

For a moment, just a flicker, it looks like it’s working. The monkey’s grip on the compass loosens, its gaze softening as if maybe—just maybe—it’s about to play nice. My heart leaps. My fingers twitch in anticipation. I almost have it.

But then, with a gleeful screech, it springs into the air, the compass flashing in its hand as it swings effortlessly from branch to branch, taunting me.

“Damn it!” I shout, my voice echoing through the trees. My patience snaps, and without thinking, I scramble after it. My hands latch onto the rough bark, splinters digging into my skin as I haul myself up. Muscles scream in protest, but I grit my teeth and climb. The sting of raw palms and the burn in my shoulders are nothing compared to what I’ll feel if I lose that compass.

Not again.

“Gypsy!” Zayan’s voice cuts through my tunnel vision, sharp and incredulous. I glance down to see him standing at the base of the tree, panting, a thick layer of sweat all over him. “What the fuck, love?”

“I’m getting my compass back!” I shout down, the words grinding through clenched teeth. “That little bastard took it, and I’m not letting it slip away.”

The flash of confusion on his face is almost funny. It would be, if not for the fact I’m completely serious.

Just as I reach for the next branch, Vinicola stumbles out from the thicket, collapsing dramatically onto the ground like he’s been dragged through hell and back.

“Please…” he wheezes, barely managing to lift his head. “Don’t… do this… anymore…”

I spare him a glance, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say the guy was about to die. His golden hair is plastered to his face, matted in sweat and dirt, and his pale chest heaves like he’s been running for hours. The scratches and bug bites across his skin only add to how pathetic he looks like.

But it’s okay. They don’t need to keep chasing. I do.

“I can’t stop now,” I grit out, forcing myself higher. It’s not that much worse than climbing the mainmast in a storm—just hotter and more irritating. “I almost had it.”

Zayan’s exasperated sigh reaches me from below. “So what, we’re chasing monkeys now, Flint? Really thought hanging with you couldn’t get any crazier.”

“If that’s what it takes!” I snap, pushing through the exhaustion and the ache in my muscles.

The leaves rustle above, and I swear the monkey’s laughing at me. The little bastard.

But then my grip slips, my sweaty palms sliding right off the wood, and before I can react, I’m falling. I hit the ground hard, a sharp pain shooting through my side.

“Fuck!” I groan, rolling onto my knees. Every inch of me aches, but the pain in my pride stings worse. “It ran away.”

I can’t decide if I’m more pissed at the monkey or at myself. It was right there. I almost had it. And then what do I do? I stand there like an idiot, thinking it would just come to me.

How stupid could I be? No creature on land’s ever been a friend of mine.

I try to stand, but my legs aren’t listening. A tingling starts at my ankles, spreading fast. Something’s wrong, but by the time I realize it, I’m already losing my balance. The world tilts, and I collapse, hitting the ground with a thud. My vision blurs, and my limbs feel heavy, like they don’t belong to me.

Zayan’s hands are on me in an instant, shaking me. “Gypsy!” His voice sounds distant, like he’s shouting through water. “Hey! What’s happening?”

I blink, trying to focus, but the world’s spinning. His face swims in and out of view, drenched in sweat and worry. “My… ankle,” I manage to mumble, but the words barely leave my lips.

What is happening to me…?

Zayan lifts my leg, and the moment he does, the world goes from bad to worse . The sound of everything—leaves, bugs, water—it’s all too loud, crashing over me like waves. My head’s pounding, every sound feeling like a knife in my skull.

“What’s… on her skin?” Vinicola asks, his voice grating against my ears.

“Don’t shout,” I mutter, but it’s useless. My own voice is too loud, and everything’s too much.

Zayan doesn’t answer right away, but I feel his hands moving, brushing something sticky off my leg. “We need to wash it off. Now.”

They half-carry, half-drag me toward the sound of running water, Zayan hacking through the jungle with his dagger. Each swing feels like a jolt through my body, like the air itself is vibrating with too much intensity. My legs are dead weight, and the numbness is creeping higher, turning everything sluggish and heavy.

The sound of the stream grows louder, like thunder pounding in my head. By the time we reach it, I’m on the verge of throwing up. I hit Zayan’s shoulder weakly, trying to let him know.

He lowers me to my knees carefully, gathering my hair back as I retch, my stomach turning from the overwhelming noise and dizziness.

“It’s always something with you, isn’t it, love?” His voice comes softer than usual, but there’s tension beneath it. Not his usual teasing edge, but something deeper. “Gotta wash your leg off from whatever it is you stepped into.”

If I weren’t feeling like death, I might kick him for calling me “love” again. But all I can manage is a groan, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. I’m too weak to do anything else.

I hate it—this helplessness, this reliance on him. Being at anyone’s mercy makes my skin crawl. I’m too weak to do anything about it, though, and that only fuels my frustration.

“Okay.” His voice drops lower, more gentle than I’ve ever heard it, and I feel his arms tighten around me as he lifts me again, cradling me like I’m something fragile. The numbness crawling up my legs has me sagging in his grip.

The cold water hits me, sloshing against my leg, and the relief is instant. Not enough, though. It’s just a small comfort, enough to pull me back from the edge but not enough to stop the pain. My head is pounding, my ears buzzing, and even the sharp cold of the stream can’t fully pull me back.

“What’s happening to her?” Vinicola’s voice breaks through, sounding even more shaky than usual. I can’t see him, but I feel the splash as he wades into the water beside us.

“Some kind of plant toxin,” Zayan mutters. “She must’ve stepped into something. I keep trying to wash it but it stained her skin.”

Vinicola’s closer now, and I can hear the tremble in his breath as he fumbles to help. His hands, clumsy and shaking, join Zayan’s in scrubbing at my ankle, trying to rid me of whatever poison is creeping through my veins.

“Will she be okay?” His voice is barely a whisper.

Zayan doesn’t answer immediately. I don’t think he does at all.

My fingers dig into the earth beneath me, nails clawing at the dirt. I need to feel something solid, something that proves I’m still here, still alive. But everything’s slipping. The numbness in my leg is creeping upward, tightening around my chest, and all I can do is hold on.

“Stay with me, love.” Zayan’s voice cuts through the haze, but it sounds distant, like he’s a hundred miles away. “Don’t you dare go anywhere without me. You hear me?”

I hear him, but it’s like he’s speaking from underwater, his words muffled by the roar in my ears. The numbness is spreading fast, crawling up my spine and coiling around my ribs. I try to speak, try to force something out, but it’s like my mouth won’t obey.

“Zayan…” The word slips from my lips, weak, barely audible. “I can’t… feel anything…”

My body is betraying me. Weak. Helpless. Two things I’ve never allowed myself to be, and yet here I am, lying in the dirt with poison stealing the fight from my limbs. The rage burns hot in my chest, but even that’s slipping away as the darkness pushes in.

Then his hand curls around mine—tight. So tight it’s like he’s trying to anchor me to this world, refusing to let me drift. I feel that. I feel him—his strength, his desperation, his refusal to let go.

It’s the only thing I feel. The only thing keeping me tethered as the rest of me fades.

But even that starts to slip as the blackness swallows me whole.

I wake up feeling cold.

Not the kind of cold that you shake off, but a bone-deep, freezing grip that makes my muscles seize up and tremble like they belong to someone else. My breath comes out in misty clouds. Each one is just a proof that something’s gone wrong. Very wrong.

I sit up, blinking through the water dripping from my hair and plastered clothes. Everything is soaked. My skin sticks to the damp fabric, and I feel the river lapping gently at me. The freeze of it, though, is not gentle at all.

“Zayan?” My voice cracks as I call out.

There’s no answer—just the lazy murmur of the water and the occasional rustle from the trees.

My fingers rub at my eyes, but it does nothing to clear the fog clouding my mind. My skin’s all pruned, like I’ve been lying in this cursed river for hours.

“Vinicola?” I try again, louder this time. Still nothing. Just silence pressing in on me from all sides.

A strange tingling starts in my fingertips, and panic follows, sharp and immediate, clawing at the edges of my thoughts. I try to move my legs, but they feel like dead weight, cold and useless. My knees refuse to bend properly, and when I try to stand, my muscles barely respond. I can’t get out of the water. Can’t even make them work.

My heart starts pounding like a drum, each beat shaking the breath out of me. I force myself to breathe. Deep, slow breaths. In, out. Steady. Don’t lose it now.

“Think, Gypsy,” I whisper harshly, my voice almost drowned by the rushing in my ears. “Just think.”

I scan the jungle around me. Dark, twisted trees flank both sides of the river, their branches hanging low. The only light comes from a pale, gray dawn creeping through the gaps in the canopy, barely strong enough to lift the shadows.

Is it evening already? Or morning? How long have I been here?

The cold claws deeper into my bones. My teeth chatter uncontrollably. Did Zayan and Vinicola leave me here? Did they go back to the schooner without me?

“Zayan!” I shout, but my voice cracks, barely strong enough to carry over the river. “Vinicola!”

Nothing. No response. Just the soft ripple of water, the distant hum of the jungle, and the sound of my own breath coming faster and faster.

I start rubbing my arms in a desperate attempt to chase away the chill sinking into me. My head’s spinning, fragments of memory flashing—running through the jungle, slashing at vines, chasing… something. The compass.

Of course! The fucking compass .

The thought brings a wave of anger—hot enough to burn through the panic, if only for a second. I grit my teeth, fighting the weakness in my body. How the hell did I end up here? I was chasing that cursed thing, not drowning in some river like a half-drowned rat.

But then a rustle in the bushes makes me freeze. My pulse spikes, breath catching in my throat as I turn my head slowly. Something moves just beyond the trees, slipping between the branches like a shadow.

It steps out—a monkey. That same damned monkey with the compass. Its beady eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, the world tilts. It doesn’t have the compass now, but I recognize it. It’s the same one.

The way it looks at me… I felt it before, but not as strong as now. It looks at me like it’s conscious. Something in my gut twists, instincts flaring to life. Get away. Now. Run .

But I can’t, can I? My legs refuse to work, and I’m stuck, staring at this cursed creature like some kind of helpless fool. I want to lash out, to move, to do something—but all I can do is sit here, soaked and shaking, while the cold creeps in deeper.

I swallow hard, forcing down the panic clawing at my throat.

“Hey there,” I whisper, my voice a rasp, trying to sound calm, hoping to coax it closer, hoping to make sense of this. “Come here, little matey.”

What the hell am I doing?

A part of me wants to grab the nearest rock and smash it into the thing’s skull. Another part is too scared to even try. But instead, I outstretch my hand, like an idiot, beckoning it closer.

The monkey tilts its head, its eyes gleaming with something I can’t place. Something wrong. I could swear it’s amused. It takes a tentative step toward me, then another, until it’s right within arm’s reach. I twist my hand—palm up—trying to make it trust me, trying to convince myself it’s just an animal.

Because it is just an animal. Nothing more.

But then, it speaks.

“What an interesting creature you are,” it whispers.

My heart slams against my ribs. No. That can’t be.

The monkey fucking speaks .

It crawls toward me on its front arms, eyes glinting like shards of glass, and I’m frozen—paralyzed. It jumps onto my legs, still submerged in the water, and climbs slowly up my body. Its weight presses down on me, impossibly heavy for something so small. I try to breathe, but my chest is tight, locked up, like the air’s been sucked out of the world.

When it pushes onto my chest, I fall back. My shoulders hit the riverbed, the cold water closing over my skin. My face barely stays above the surface, and my breath shallows. Move. Fight. Do something.

But I can’t. My heart—is it even beating anymore?

“You want the sea, and the sea wants you,” the monkey purrs, its voice slithering out of its mouth like smoke. “Yet, when the time comes, you don’t answer the call.”

What? My mind floods with questions, panic roaring through me, but when I try to speak, the water rises, filling my mouth. It’s cold, bitter, choking me.

“Shh,” the monkey hushes, pressing its weight down harder on my chest. My lips seal shut, my eyes wide with terror. I can’t move, can’t speak. “You need to listen. I carry a message for you.”

A message? The thought barely cuts through the fear racing through me.

“The Lady is not pleased with you,” it whispers, its words crawling under my skin, into my bones. “She wants you to know that if you reject the invitation again, there will be consequences.” Its lips curl back, baring sharp little teeth. “The Lady is not patient. Oh, that she is not.”

The Lady… No. No, no, no. It can’t be real. It’s all just stories, legends, myths told to keep sailors from going mad at sea.

But as the words spill from its mouth, memories flash before my eyes—stories I’ve heard all my life, the tales Silverbeard swore were true. The ones I’ve spent years trying to forget.

I try to speak, but the water rises higher, nearly drowning me. If I open my mouth, I’ll choke.

“You understand, don’t you?” the monkey’s voice is calm and mocking. It knows exactly what it’s doing to me. “You are bound by the sea, by her will. Deny her again, and you will face her wrath. This is your only warning. There won’t be another.”

The water surges, covering my face, filling my mouth and nose. I’m drowning, sinking beneath the weight of those words. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t escape. This is it. This is how I die.

The monkey’s words linger. I hear them over and over again. Their message is clear.

If I offend the Lady ever again... I’ll die.

There’s no question about it.