17. Zayan

17

Zayan

“ W here the hell did you get that?” My voice comes out sharper than I planned, rough around the edges, but it’s the best I can manage with my heart slamming against my ribs.

Am I scared? Not even close. What I feel is worse. Dread—thick, cold, like someone just dumped a bucket of seawater down my spine.

That damned compass. I’ve barely caught my breath since last night, when I saw it gleaming in Gypsy’s hands. Now it’s back, resting in Vinicola’s palm like some cruel joke, and my gut churns like I’m the one drowning, not the compass I watched her throw overboard.

Vinicola just shrugs, casual as you please. “I, uh, found it,” he says. “Buried a little in the sand. Figured it’d be useful, y’know, for… finding stuff?” He pauses, glancing between me and Gypsy. “Or… wait, is this the compass you two were talking about?”

I can’t even look at her. My throat’s tight, and I swear, for a second, I am barely holding on. How the fuck is it here? It should be at the bottom of the damn ocean. I watched her throw it overboard. I watched it drown.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” I finally say, voice low. “You shouldn’t have touched it.”

Vinicola shifts, clears his throat, clearly wishing he hadn’t found a damn thing. “Right, well…” He stumbles over his words, but Gypsy doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

“How can it be here?” she cuts in, her voice sharp, almost cracking. She jumps to her feet, clutching her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Her eyes, wide and wild, are glued to the compass. She looks just as shocked as I am.

But there’s something else. Beneath the panic, the disbelief—I see it in her. Something’s off.

Ever since she passed out in that river, I’ve had this gnawing feeling. Like a storm on the horizon, ready to break. And here’s the problem—I don’t even know what to ask. Gypsy’s always been chaos in motion, tearing through anything in her path. But this? This damn compass? It’s shaking her in a way I’ve never seen.

I’ve kept my distance, sure. Didn’t want to push her too hard. Gypsy Flint might be a reckless, fearless force, but she’s damn good at building walls too. Doesn’t like being cornered—by me or anyone else. I’ve respected that. Let her handle her own mess. But now? Watching her come undone right in front of me? I can’t ignore it.

I glance between her and Vinicola, my fists clenching tight. Every part of me screams to grab that compass and smash it into the ground. But that won’t fix a damn thing. This isn’t just about a piece of metal. It’s about whatever happened back there, in that river, and the things she’s not telling me.

Time to act.

I step closer, my gaze locking onto hers. My voice comes out low, rough. “Gypsy… what aren’t you telling me?”

She looks at me, swallowing hard. “What?”

“There’s something you’re not saying out loud. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.”

She laughs. It’s that cold, dismissive laugh she pulls when she’s trying to keep me at arm’s length. But I don’t move. Hell, I’m not backing off now. I lean in, lowering my voice but keeping it steady.

“I don’t know how the hell you pulled it off, but I swear I saw that compass land at the privateer’s feet. If you switched it with something else, just admit it. Better than pretending it magically crawled back into the bard’s hands.”

Her laughter dies quick, tension thick enough to cut with a blade. Her eyes flick between me and Vini, who looks about two seconds away from turning into a statue.

“I didn’t switch anything,” she says, her voice tight.

I want to believe her. Hell, every part of me aches to believe her. But the compass in the bard’s hand, looking just like the one I saw last night, is sitting there like a knife in my back.

“Then how do you explain this, love?” I say, pointing at the cursed thing, my tone mocking. “What, it grew legs and decided to stroll over here for fun?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it did.”

“ Really ?”

She steps back, putting distance between us, the warmth of her skin slipping out of my reach.

“Fuck, Zayan. I don’t know how it ended up here,” she snaps. “I threw it away. Thought it was at the bottom of the sea. You didn’t see it in the jungle, and I believed you.”

“Maybe there’s more than one compass that look the same?” Vinicola offers weakly.

I shoot him a look that could knock a man dead. “There’s no way in hell there’s more than one of these. Roche would’ve known. I would’ve known. That gold’s too pretty not to catch an eye or two.”

I turn back to Gypsy. “Gypsy,” I say, softer now, like I’m trying to coax the truth out of her.

She rakes a hand through her hair, biting her lip, tapping her foot like crazy. Finally, she curses, and something in her shifts—her whole demeanor flips.

“Okay, fine,” she spits. “There is something. Maybe. I don’t know if it’s anything real, but...”

Shit. This isn’t good. Not a damn good sign. I feel Vinicola tense beside me, but I don’t take my eyes off her.

“But what?” I ask, though my pulse is pounding so hard I can barely hear my own voice.

She takes a breath, her words tumbling out in a rush. “When I passed out in the jungle, I had a… I know how it sounds, okay? But hear me out—I had a vision. Something strange. Eerie.”

I tilt my head, leaning in just a bit. “Alright,” I say, my tone smooth but slower now, careful. “Go on.”

“In this vision, there was this monkey. The same one I was chasing through the trees. But it talked. Said it had a message for me. Said I’m a strange creature, and that I rejected the Lady’s invitation. And she’s not happy with me. It was about the compass. I knew it straight away. I just thought it was my drugged-up brain, or something, telling me I messed up by throwing it away.”

I raise an eyebrow, keeping my voice steady even though her words are starting to crawl under my skin. “And you didn’t mention this earlier because…?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Her gaze flickers to the compass in the bard’s hand. “And honestly? I thought I was losing my mind. But now…” She gestures toward it. “Now I don’t know what to think.”

Fuck. I knew it. But what good is an I told you so right now? No, I need a plan. Fast.

“What else did it say?” I ask, my voice low, keeping my feelings intact from spilling over. “This monkey .”

I almost laugh at the absurdity of asking this, of all things. But even weirder things supposedly happened on these seas. Remembering that stops me from smiling.

Gypsy hesitates, her eyes flashing with uncertainty, but she continues. “It said if I reject the Lady again, I’ll face her wrath.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice drops. “In other words, she’ll kill me.”

Ah. So that’s what we’re dealing with.

“And did this… prophetic monkey of yours happen to mention what you’re supposed to do next? Because I’m guessing She knows you already tossed the compass overboard.”

Her glare could cut through steel. “Don’t start acting like you believe that nonsense, Zayan. You really think I’m being hunted by a goddess?” The way her eyes flash—half angry, half unsure—makes me want to shake some sense into her. Or maybe kiss that doubt right out of her. Hell, either would work.

I shrug instead. “You’re the one who had a heart-to-heart with a talking monkey, love.”

Her jaw clenches, and I can see the battle waging inside her. Even before we crossed paths on Medusa’s Gaze, I’d heard about her. Hell, any pirate worth his salt has. Gypsy Flint, the daughter of Silverbeard, known for spitting in the face of the gods every chance she gets. She never believed in them.

So this? This is new territory for her.

“So, what… assuming this Lady’s real, hypothetically speaking,” she begins, her words a bit stiff. “And that the dream wasn’t just some fever… I’m not supposed to throw it away again. The monkey called it an invitation. Something I’m supposed to answer.”

“Answer?” I repeat, tilting my head. “As in, follow wherever it’s pointing?”

“There’s not much else you do with a compass, is there?”

“And you actually want to do that?”

That fire I love so much flares up in her eyes. “You got a better idea, Zayan?” she snaps, her frustration spilling out. “Because what else can I do?”

That fire—damn, it’s something I can’t help but admire, even when it’s aimed right at me. But this whole thing? The compass, the goddess, a target on her back? It’s a hell of a lot more dangerous than diving for treasure in wrecks where no sane man would go. We shouldn’t just charge in without at least a little clarity.

“Alright, alright. Just… hold on a second.” I step in, trying to fit the pieces together. “If you were planning to follow the compass from the start, then what was the storm about? Why would The Lady push you off course like that?”

“She…?” Gypsy breathes, her voice dropping for a beat. Then her eyes sharpen. “Right… she fucking did. Gods, this is surreal. I don’t know why. It makes no sense.”

“Unless she just wanted you to be aware of her,” Vinicola interjects suddenly. “You know, make you understand why you’re supposed to do this?”

Gypsy bristles. “Or,” she says, stepping toward Vinicola, her voice low and dangerous, “maybe this is all bullshit.”

Vinicola swallows, shrinking back a little, but he doesn’t stop talking. “I mean, gods aren’t exactly known for giving straightforward instructions, right? They never are.”

Gypsy scoffs, and I catch that tiny crack in her voice, just enough to make my chest tighten. “Yeah, or maybe she’s just toying with me until I drown. She’s a sadistic bitch like that.”

And that’s when it hits me, like a punch to the gut. Not something I like, but hell, it’s staring me in the face now, isn’t it?

“She’s not just playing you,” I mutter under my breath. “She’s playing all of us.”

The whole damn thing falls into place, piece by piece. Everything that happened so far.

First, Gypsy shows me that cursed compass, and like the reckless idiot I am, I stroll right into the Serpents’ den. I should’ve had my tongue sliced out for that stunt—should’ve bled out on the tavern floor while Silverbeard grinned—but no, I walk away with my head still attached.

Then she’s cast off her crew, as if to cut off her ties with the only thing that was keeping her from sailing out to the unknown. And wouldn’t you know it? She conveniently finds a ship the very next day. Not just any ship, either—one with a prisoner in the locker who just so happens to have a bounty on himself so high, that privateers risk sailing out into the storm for him. Of course.

And then? I get what I need. I’m led straight to Gypsy. We survive the storm, throw the compass overboard, and see the privateers drown. Next thing, we have no choice but to dock at an unknown island, where Gypsy is exposed to some rare plant toxin and gets a one on one talk with the Lady’s messenger.

All this, so Gypsy believes. All this to change the course of her mind.

I arch a brow at her. “Guess The Lady decided she’s had enough of your blasphemy. Wanted to show you up.”

Gypsy scoffs, hands on her hips, looking anywhere but at me. “Not just a bitch. Petty as hell, too.”

She’s restless, can’t keep still, spinning on her heels to face Vinicola before snatching the compass from his hands. She opens it, and I step in closer, my chest brushing against her shoulder. Her scent hits me—a mix of something sweet and warm, hidden under the smoke of cooking fish and fresh water from her bath. Papaya and sunlight.

I inhale that in, as I watch the compass’ needle. It’s spinning slowly, as if deciding on a direction. Then, with a sudden click, it stops, pointing firmly towards the horizon.

“Looks like we’re heading south-east,” she says.

South-east. Out of reach from Roche and Silverbeard. Territories neither of them dared to touch. Untamed, full of chaos, and probably a hellhole of violence. Sure thing.

I force a grin. “South-east it is. At least we won’t have the Marauders or Serpents sniffing around, right?”

I say it like it’s a win, but I know better. My shoulders sag a little. Sailing through storms and facing sea gods? Sure, that’s one thing. But pirates? They’re another beast entirely. And I’d know. I’m one of them.

Gypsy flashes a half-smile before dropping down onto the sand. The talk dies there. Even Vinicola, usually full of hot air, stays quiet. The two of us eat the fish, slice through a third of the fruit, and stash the rest for the ship.Gypsy’s lying down with her face turned to the sea. Her gaze fixed on the horizon, expression empty, unreadable. I want to ask her what she’s thinking about, but I stay quiet. It feels like she needs to stay with her thoughts alone, staring off with the sea in a silent challenge. I watch her like that for some time, until she begins to blink slowly, the first wave of sleepiness washing over her face.

By the time the stars burn through the sky, brighter than the fire at our feet, Gypsy’s out cold. How she sleeps with everything hanging over us, I’ll never understand, but I’m glad she does. Vinicola’s not far behind her.

But me? I’m wide awake.

Plans swirl in my head. I’ve got fish to catch, repairs to make, sails to mend.

But none of that matters half as much as keeping a certain girl alive.

That’s the real job.