24. Gypsy

24

Gypsy

W hat do you do when your frail little ship gets torn apart in a storm, and you’re left with nothing but a flimsy raft to cling to? You don’t get to make plans. You survive. Even if it means grabbing hold of the first lifeline thrown your way—even if that lifeline comes wrapped in thorns.

I stare at the wreck of our schooner, pieces of wood still bobbing on the water. Zayan shifts next to me, fingers raking through his hair, his weight balanced awkwardly to keep pressure off his injured leg. He doesn’t look at me, just glares at the horizon with his eyes narrowed.

“No,” he says finally, voice hard. “This is reckless. And not even in a good way. That bastard wanted to kill us five minutes ago.”

I glance from Zayan to what’s left of our ship, then back in the direction of the man offering us a “way out.” I don’t see any better options on the table.

“He’s got a big ship,” I say, raising an eyebrow, biting my lip. “And he doesn’t seem to mind me being the captain.”

Zayan lets out a sharp breath, throwing me a look that says he’s not buying it for a second. “Which reeks of a trap. You really think he’s just gonna let you take charge? After what we did?”

“Does it matter?” I counter, my tone flat. “We don’t have a choice but to step into it. Unless you’ve got some brilliant plan tucked up your sleeve that I don’t know about. Because from where I’m standing, I sure as hell don’t see another ship rolling in to offer us a lift.”

His silence is answer enough.

Behind us, Vinicola’s perched on a rock, scrubbing at his shirt like a man possessed, trying to scrub away more than just blood—like he could erase everything he’s just been through if he scrubs hard enough. It’s been five minutes, and that shirt’s about as clean as it’s ever going to get. But he keeps at it, hands shaking, breath coming out in ragged gasps with each furious stroke.

“I don’t know about you,” he pipes up, voice pitched too loud, “but I’d rather not be stranded here. I’ve heard the stories, and let me tell you, they’re not the fun kind you sing about in taverns. And say what you want, but that guy didn’t strike me as the lying type. Jaded, yes. But honestly, who spends five years looking for something like this and still lies about it?”

“Stop shouting,” Zayan hisses, throwing him a glare that could melt steel. “He’s right around the corner. He can hear you.”

Vinicola lets out a nervous laugh, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “I meant ‘ jaded ’ in a good way!”

I swear I hear Fabien scoff from his side of the rocky platform. Oh yeah, he’s listening in alright. Not that I blame him, seeing as how he was ready to slit our throats not an hour ago, and now here we are—partners, apparently. Bound together by a mark none of us asked for. The guy’s unstable. One minute he’s our biggest threat, and the next, he’s convinced the gods themselves have ordained us to work together.

It makes me sick. If it weren’t for the strange mark now etched into my palm, the same mark all four of us share, I’d side with Zayan and put a dagger through Fabien’s throat. Clean, simple, no loose ends. But I’ve been proven wrong about a lot of things lately, and the mystical? Yeah, that’s a truth I can’t shake off anymore. Because how else would I get a black spot on my palm, looking way too much like the ones in the old legends—the ones sailors whisper about after a few too many drinks?

The black spot that marks you for death.

I reach into my pocket, taking the compass out. This little piece of cursed metal was supposed to be my ticket to freedom. Instead, it’s just shackled me to a whole mess of truths I’d rather not face—like the fact that The Lady can end me whenever she damn well pleases. That storm? The red rain? And the way she spoke to Vini?

I can’t deny her existence anymore.

Zayan’s watching me, jaw clenched, waiting for me to say something that’ll tip the scales one way or the other. I meet his gaze, utterly lost inside. Still, the decision has to be made.

“We’re stepping into it,” I say, even though I’m not convinced it’s a good idea. “And we’re doing it because we don’t have a choice. You know it, I know it. So let’s stop pretending we’re in control of anything here. We get onto his ship, and we figure the rest out later. If we need to fight, we will fight.”

Zayan nods, but his entire body is tense. I saw the way he barely fended off Fabien earlier—he would’ve been dead if I hadn’t stepped in. His injury is slowing him down too much, and he won’t be much of a help if we’d need to fight again. But staying here, hoping for a passerby ship, is as good as starving to death anyway.

“Listen,” I say, lowering my voice, casting a glance over my shoulder at where I know Fabien’s lurking. “We need him. For now. But we keep our eyes open, and our weapons closer.”

“Fine,” he mutters, “but the second he gives us a reason—“

“We deal with it,” I finish for him.

For a moment, something akin to appreciation flutters through Zayan’s eyes, and I think he’s going to give me one of his signature smirks again. But then his leg twitches and a wince of pain crosses through him instead.

Vinicola finally gets to his feet, hands raw and red.

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” he says, loud again, “that Fabien claims to have forty men on board and not a single one came ashore with him? Not even one?”

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that myself,” I admit, eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you just join the conversation, since you’re so interested?” I call out, loud enough for anyone in earshot to hear. My hand brushes the gun at my hip as I speak—just a little reminder of where we all stand here.

Fabien saunters over, all calm and collected, stopping just shy of our little circle. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, his voice dripping with mock politeness, the kind that makes my skin crawl. “As for my crew, they follow my lead without question. I point, they sail. They don’t ask questions, and they’re compensated accordingly. I prefer to work alone, but no one sails the seas alone.”

I glance at Zayan, who looks about as unimpressed as I feel. He gives a tiny shrug, as if to say, Is this guy serious?

“So, you didn’t think to bring any backup?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, refusing to let Fabien off that easy. Something about him feels off, and I want to get under his skin.

“Let’s just say I try to keep the casualties to the minimum,” he replies. “Does this satisfy your curiosity?”

It doesn’t. Not even close. But I don’t press him further. Instead, I keep my hand near my holstered gun, fingers twitching with the urge to grab it. There’s something wrong with this man, something slippery and dangerous. I don’t like it.

He said he’s been searching for this wreck for years, and yet, he’s standing here without a care in the world, not even pretending to salvage anything from it. No gold, no treasure, no maps. What kind of pirate doesn’t jump at the chance to snatch something valuable?

If it’s not about the riches, then what the hell is it about?

And that’s the scary part—personal motives are unpredictable. You never know what a man like Fabien Rancour might be after, or how far he’s willing to go to get it.

“Have you decided yet?” he asks, looking me dead in the eye, his eyes locking onto mine. Not Zayan’s, not Vinicola’s. Just me. He knows who’s in charge here. On some level, he’s already treating me like a captain, and that alone makes me wary of him.

I clear my throat, refusing to back down. “I hope you don’t expect any of us to trust you,” I tell him. “If so, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“Trust?” He laughs—a hollow, bitter sound, one that feels like it’s been dragged out of him too many times. Seems he makes it a lot. “Trust has nothing to do with it. This is about survival. Yours, specifically. Whether you like it or not, you’re tied to me now.”

He gestures vaguely to the mark on his palm, the same mark that scars mine. I glance down, rubbing it absentmindedly, the skin tingling beneath my fingers. I still don’t fully understand what it means, but I’m sure of one thing—it didn’t show up by accident. It must have appeared the moment Vinicola put the compass and key together. Right after the ungodly headache that nearly split my skull in two, there it was, plain as day, etched into our skin like a brand.

It makes me shudder.

“Your men won’t rebel against me?” I ask, working my jaw. “I’m not their captain.”

“They won’t,” he says. “As I told you, they follow orders. Without question. Besides, I’ll still pay them their coin. That’s all that matters to them.”

“That’s some real loyalty you’ve got there,” I mutter, eyes narrowing as I try to gauge some kind of reaction—anything that would crack the mask he wears, something different from the constant dead stares. My words hang in the air like bait, but I don’t expect much.

To my surprise, I get it.

Anger. It’s slow at first, barely noticeable. But it’s there, simmering beneath his cool exterior, flickering in the depths of his eyes like embers waiting to ignite.

“Loyalty leads only to pain, Captain ,“ he purrs. And for once, I can tell it’s not just another line. This one’s real. He believes it, right down to that pitch-black heart of his.

The moment Fabien’s ship comes into view, the breath gets knocked clean out of my lungs. I blink, half-convinced I’m seeing things, because ships like this are supposed to be owned only by navy or the pirate kings. Not the likes of Fabien.

It’s an absolute beast—bigger than the ancient galleon we’ve just fought on, standing proud on the water like something out of a legend. Dark sails ripple in the wind like raven wings, and the hull—sleek, sharp, dangerous—cuts through the waves like a damn demon hunting for souls.

It’s a ship built for speed and power, a predator among prey.

It’s beautiful.

“That’s your ship?” I ask, clutching my shirt like I’m trying to hold my heart in place. If this is all a dream, the kind where everything turns to ash just when you start to believe in it, now’s the moment I really don’t want to wake up.

“Yes,” Fabien says, like it’s nothing. Not a hint of pride. Just… yes.

“What’s its name?” I ask, because a ship like this deserves one. If I’m going to captain her, I need to know. The name gives her a soul, makes her part of the crew. It’s not just wood and sails—it’s something alive.

“It doesn’t have a name,” Fabien replies, as if that’s perfectly normal. I feel my jaw tighten, a sharp sting of disappointment hitting me square in the chest.

“You’re telling me,” I start, trying and failing to keep the disbelief out of my voice, “that this magnificent ship—this beauty —doesn’t have a name?”

He raises an eyebrow, mildly amused. “It’s a tool, not a pet. I never saw the need.”

A tool. The words hit like a slap, and I glance at Zayan, who’s standing beside me, echoing the disbelief etched on my face.

Zayan scoffs, his voice low and biting. “Every ship needs a name. It’s what gives them spirit. Meaning.” He looks at Fabien like he’s talking to an idiot. “You don’t just float around in something nameless.”

Fabien shrugs, completely unfazed. “If it pleases you, name it. I don’t care.”

Well, fuck me, he’s stranger than Vinicola . I almost laugh, but I know better than to provoke him just yet. Not until I’m sure there aren’t brutes waiting below deck to throw me in a cage.

“Come to think of it, we didn’t name the schooner either, did we?” Vini pipes up from behind, his voice light but thoughtful.

I turn to him, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re right,” I admit, annoyance flickering through me. “We were too wrapped up in the damn compass to even think about it.”

“Well, maybe that’s where we went wrong,” Zayan muses. “Could’ve brought us better luck. Might not have sunk so fast.”

Before I can respond, Fabien snorts, crossing his arms. “Luck’s got nothing to do with survival. Skill and preparation do. Names…” He waves a dismissive hand. “Names are just… names.”

But I’m already done listening to him, my eyes drawn to the skiff tied to a rock ahead, looking pristine—untouched by the storm, like it hadn’t spent the last hour in the same hell we did.

“This yours too?” I ask, already unwrapping the rope from the rock.

Fabien nods, his eyes flickering to the skiff and back to me. “Yes, it is. Do you want to captain this one too?”

I clench my jaw, swallowing the retort that’s dancing on the tip of my tongue. Now’s not the time to trade barbs, no matter how tempting it is to put him in his place. I glance at Zayan, who’s practically vibrating with the effort of holding back, his teeth grinding so hard I’m surprised they haven’t shattered. Vinicola, beside us, fidgets like he’s sitting on a barrel of gunpowder, eager to get out of this place before the fuse burns too short.

“Sure thing, Fabien Rancour,” I say with a smirk. “Let me command you some before I do that in front of your men.” My words are honeyed, but there’s a barb beneath the sweetness, one I know Fabien feels.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he gestures toward the skiff with a mock flourish. “Ladies first.”

I hold my ground for a beat, but eventually nod and step toward the skiff to prepare it. One by one, we pile in. Vinicola jumps in first, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. Zayan follows, his movements tight, controlled. I settle in after, helping Zayan steady himself before turning my attention to Fabien, who climbs in last without losing any balance.

When we push away from the rock, I feel unease coiling around my insides like a knot. This is it. We’re putting our lives in the hands of a man we barely know and trust even less.

Silverbeard would’ve told me I’m a fool. He’d give me that long, silent stare of disappointment before launching into one of his tirades. I’d never hear the end of it.

Fabien’s the one to row. To his credit, he makes it look easy—like it’s no more effort than lifting a tankard of ale. His broad frame moves with the kind of strength you don’t see often, muscles rippling with each pull. It’s clear he’s used to hard work, though how he built a body like that while commanding forty men to do the heavy lifting for him is beyond me.

I’ve got a toned-down body myself—lean and sharp, built for speed and survival. I like to think I’m in peak shape for a pirate. But him? He’s on another level. I’ve never seen a man with so much muscle. Even Zayan, an expert swimmer who prides himself on his physique, doesn’t come close. Fabien’s calves are thicker, his shoulders broader. He looks like he could break a man in two without so much as blinking.

It pains me to admit it, given just moments ago I had to fight with him for our lives, but that’s the truth. He’s a formidable opponent. Hopefully, he can be a formidable ally as well.

And as if sensing my thoughts, he speaks, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “Are you changing your mind, Captain?” he asks, not bothering to look my way. “Or do you think staring long enough will let you figure me out?”

His words catch me off guard, even though they shouldn’t. Maybe it’s his size, or the way he speaks without the slightest hint of insecurity. Whatever it is, my mouth opens before I can stop it.

“Neither, actually,” I say. “Just wondering how a man stops being human and becomes a monster like you. I’ve never seen someone so big around here.”

The moment the words slip out, I feel the weight of Zayan’s stare drilling into the side of my head. He’s sitting across from me, next to Fabien, and the look on his face makes it clear—if I hadn’t given him a reason to want Fabien dead before, I just handed him one on a silver platter.

I meet his glare head-on and shrug, because he’s not the boss of me and never will be. He can seethe all he wants, but I’m not about to play nice just because he’s uncomfortable.

Fabien, on the other hand, laughs—a sound that’s rough and jagged, just like everything about him.

“Do you mean my soul or my body, Captain?” he rasps. “Those are two very different kinds of monstrosities.”

I smirk, feeling the corner of my mouth tug up. “I don’t think I’d ever compliment you enough to say you have a big soul,” I fire back.

“My body then,” he replies. “Years of hardship and survival, Captain. Years of pushing past my limits because no one else would. When there’s no one to rely on but yourself, you either grow strong or die. And fish. Lots of fish.”

“Fish,” I repeat, my amusement slipping through despite myself. “We all eat fish, Fabien Rancour. None of us look like you.”

“Not nearly as much as me, I can assure you.”

I can’t help it—a laugh escapes me. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say, settling back in the skiff.

The whole conversation feels absurd, ridiculous even, but somehow it fits. The sight of Zayan’s tight-lipped silence, with Vinicola barely looking up, only adds to it. Zayan’s eyes are still burning into me, his hand resting near his blade, ready to strike if Fabien so much as breathes wrong.

But Vinicola? His eyes are trained on something else, not me, not Fabien, but the looming shadow of the ship that’s growing larger by the second. The way his gaze keeps flicking back to it, I can tell there’s something more going on in that nervous head of his.

Interesting.

I take that little nugget of information and tuck it into my back pocket.

Fabien docks the skiff and secures it to the side of the ship before we begin to climb aboard. As I grasp the coarse ropes, my heart pounds harder than I’d like to admit. Every instinct in me screams that this might be another huge mistake. Another bad gamble. Just like the compass was.

But then I set foot on the deck. The dull thud of my boots against the polished wood hits different—like this ship has been waiting for me. The air here smells rich, like expensive material, sweat, and something… more.

It might be just wishful thinking, some forgotten part inside me that always ached for grandeur and respect, but damn… for just a split second I feel like I’ve always belonged on a ship like this.

Hell, the size alone is a dream. You can just tell this isn’t a ragtag crew sleeping on ropes and eating stale bread. No, the men on this ship probably have real hammocks, decent rations, and a system that keeps them upright and running for days. Like Medusa’s Gaze—before the war, anyway.

But then I notice the difference. The deck is empty. Not a soul in sight except for one man, staring us down like he already knows what we’re here for.

“I see you’ve returned with company, young Master,” the old man says, his voice soft but steady as he steps forward, a gentle smile tugging at his weathered face.

I blink. What? I glance at Fabien, and it’s clear I’m missing something here. I mean… Vinicola did recite something about Fabien being of decent upbringing, but to call him young master? That’s unexpected.

“Please don’t tell me your name is ‘Forty Men,’ Mister,” Vinicola groans, dragging Zayan aboard with a grunt. “That would be a cruel joke, wouldn’t it?”

The old man chuckles lightly.

“This is Ridley,” Fabien says, eyeing him with something that almost looks like respect. “And no, the crew’s below deck. They don’t want to look at the cursed shipwreck. They’re scared.”

“Men like that usually are,” Ridley adds, his voice smooth but laced with something else. A quiet challenge. His eyes sweep over us, and I can feel him sizing us up, curious but calm. Not hostile, but… ready . He’s a killer that one, wrapped in a pretty vest.

I’ve seen his type before. Gibbons has that same look—laughing like the world’s a joke, but the moment you blink, he’s the first to stick a broken bottle in someone’s throat without a second thought.

Fabien exchanges a look with Ridley, something wordless but weighted. There’s history between them, something that runs deeper than just serving on the same crew.

“The goddess sent them here,” Fabien says, his voice dipping into something quieter, almost reverent, as he shows Ridley his open palm, like the answers to all this mess are scrawled in the black mark across his skin. “Thought we outsmarted her. Turns out, we walked right into her trap instead.”

Ridley’s lips press into a thin line, and he nods like he’s suddenly pieced it all together. Like whatever happened during the ascent makes perfect sense to him now.

It doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.

His eyes flick to me, then to Zayan and Vinicola.

“Ah, the goddess’s mark,” Ridley murmurs, taking Fabien’s palm and studying it. “So it begins again.”

My fingers curl at my sides, the strange, faint burn beneath my own skin reminding me of the mark still there. I try not to shiver. I fail.

“The Trials?” I ask, recalling what Fabien said at the shipwreck. The words taste like ash in my mouth when I say them, though. “Whatever they are?”

Ridley’s gaze sharpens. “Do you not know of them?”

“We know as much as he’s told us,” Zayan cuts in, his voice edged with bitterness as he gestures toward Fabien. He doesn’t even bother to hide the animosity. “Which is nothing.”

Fabien doesn’t rise to the bait, just stares at the ground like it’s more interesting than anything Zayan has to say.

Ridley doesn’t seem in any hurry to explain, either. Instead, he smiles—slow, infuriating—and interlaces his fingers over his stomach. “That seems just like the Lady, doesn’t it? To thrust you into the Trials with strangers who know nothing of them,” he says to Fabien.

Fabien nods, confirming what we all already know—none of us are getting answers anytime soon.

My patience frays. I glance between the two of them, then at Zayan, who’s still glaring at Fabien like he’d love nothing more than to throw him overboard. Vinicola’s hovering nearby, looking as out of place as ever.

This can’t go on.

“So, from what I’m hearing,” I say, letting my tone turn deceptively casual as I shift my weight, eyes sliding over Fabien, “it sounds like we all need each other. In fact…” I let a slow smirk pull at my lips as I cross my arms. “Seems to me, our ‘young master’ here might need us even more than we need him.”

It’s a gamble, but it’s one worth taking. I’m just running on the assumption that Fabien isn’t as indispensable as he seems to think he is. If the Lady truly thrust him into this mess with a group of strangers, he’s in it just as deep as the rest of us. His sudden shift in attitude—giving me command of the ship, the lack of hostility—says as much. It’s leverage.

And there it is. Fabien’s eyes finally lift from the ground, and I catch the flicker in his expression. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“Considering I provide a vessel, rations, and a crew,” he replies, “I’d like to disagree. But yes, we do need each other.”

I lean in slightly, my smirk widening. “Then it seems only fair we set a couple of terms ourselves. Doesn’t matter how much you’re providing—we’re still the ones making this work.”

Fabien’s eyes narrow, but he nods, the movement sharp. He’s weighing his options. I didn’t peg him as the type to back down easily, not after what I saw on that mountain. But he’s more selective with his temper than I thought. Maybe even more selective than me.

“Is there something else you want, aside from playing the boss?” he asks, voice cool but edged. “That’s rather greedy, isn’t it, Captain ?”

“I never said I wasn’t greedy.”

He doesn’t flinch, but there’s a tightness around his eyes, a silent acknowledgment. He knows what this is—a power play. I can feel him bristling beneath that cold exterior, but he keeps it in check, waiting for the next hit.

“State your terms, then,” he says after a long pause.

I don’t miss a beat. “First, we need to know exactly what these Trials are and what the Lady’s mark truly means. If our lives are tied to yours, we’re not going in blind. I want every detail.”

No room for negotiation. I make it clear—this isn’t a request. It’s a demand.

“Second,” I continue, my tone steady, “we need proper quarters. As captain, I’ll have my own space, separate from the crew.”

I pause, feeling the weight of what I’m about to say next settle between us like a coiled rope about to snap.

“And third—you’ll see to Zayan’s injuries. Medical help. And you’ll stop calling him a cripple.” My eyes narrow, daring him to challenge me. “I don’t like it.”

That hits its mark. His jaw tightens ever so slightly, a shadow passing behind his eyes, but it’s enough. He holds his silence for a beat too long, and I know I’ve struck a nerve.

The dismissive tone heats my blood, but I keep my expression cold, impassive. I’m doing my fucking hardest not to lose my composure.

“Fourth,” I say, forcing my voice steady, “I want my man, Vinicola, to create a mark for the sails. Our crew had one before. It drowned with the last ship. It’s only fair the mark follows the crew that sails it now.”

I watch Fabien carefully as I speak, but it’s Vinicola’s reaction I’m really waiting for. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile bloom on his face, and he steps forward with a new wave of lighthearted energy he always carries around.

“We stand quite immovable on that point,” he chimes in, suddenly lifted up. There’s a hint of pride in his voice, and despite myself, I almost smile.

Fabien turns to look at Vinicola, assessing, and for a moment, I think he’ll argue, that he’ll dig in just to push back on the terms I’ve set.

But then he exhales, his smile returning, sharper this time.

“Very well,” he concedes, his voice measured. “I’ll allow it.”

And just like that, the deal is made.

I don’t relax, not yet. I’ve seen too many pirates play these games, and I know better than to trust a man like Fabien. But as his eyes flick between us, something shifts in the air—something that wasn’t there before.

A deal. An understanding. And maybe, just maybe, the start of something new.