31. Zayan

31

Zayan

I stride beside Gypsy, both of us heading toward the harbor, when a sharp, gut-wrenching scream splits the air from somewhere ahead. My heart drops, and I glance at her. She’s already looking at me, eyes narrowed.

“We know that voice,” she says.

“Vinicola,” I whisper.

Before the echo fades, we’re both off, sprinting. Gypsy surges ahead, and I follow, the pulse of adrenaline firing through my veins.

Is Fabien hurting him? The thought digs in deep, spreading dread in my chest. Was this all some sick setup?

Some pirate I am, leaving him in the claws of that freak. Fabien’s as trustworthy as a sea snake, slithering around with his own agenda, always on the edge of snapping. The moment I saw those eyes of his, I knew he’d bring trouble. That glint, the one that says he’d toss a man overboard as easily as blinking, should’ve been warning enough. Now I’m regretting every second I didn’t yank him back.

We round a corner, the streets narrowing into an empty stretch of dirt, leading toward the edges of the island where only the wind and whispers roam. Each step grinds against my nerves, winding me tighter.

Fabien knew exactly what he was doing, dragging Vinicola off where no soul would think to look.

Ahead, a sliver of voices trickles through the stillness—low, agitated, simmering with that twisted edge of threat. And there it is again, faint but clear: Vini’s voice, shaky but unmistakable.

Gypsy slows suddenly, one hand raised to halt me. Her gaze cuts forward, and I follow, spotting a small, rundown shack tucked between a couple of drooping palms. An alchemist’s haunt? Blood spatters across the wooden doors and drips down the building’s side.

And just there, sprawled on the ground, lies a body.

“It’s not Vini,” Gypsy exhales, a flicker of relief that eases my own tension by a notch.

“Then who the hell is it?” I mutter, fists clenching as my confusion tightens.

We edge closer, the thick scent of blood invading the air, almost thick enough to taste. Old sailors say blood is salt to the earth, and just like the sea, the Lady drinks her fill. Some say it’s only pirates she feeds on, but those fools will take any lie as long as it makes them feel lighter at heart.

But blood doesn’t discriminate.

The goddess can lay claim to just about anyone who sails under her skies, no matter their allegiance. This blood mingling with the salt breeze? Feels like it… belongs to her, somehow.

Gypsy catches my eye. We’re both tense, each step bringing us closer to the source of this little mess. Just beyond the shop, the sounds of a scuffle thicken, steel scraping and curses flying. The kind of noise that raises your pulse.

Gypsy signals to split up, and I nod, swinging left as she takes the right, my dagger tight in my grip. As I close in, voices become clearer. One of them is Vini’s, breathless and desperate. The other? Darker, coiled tight with some sick thrill that cuts to the bone.

Fabien.

But there’s more than just the two of them. It doesn’t even sound like they’re trading blows. They’re fighting together .

The realization hits, freezing me mid-step. If Vini and Fabien aren’t going at each other’s throats, then who—or what—are they facing down?

I slip around the corner, catching sight of it all playing out by the shop. Vini and Fabien, backs pressed against the wall, are fending off a group of scowling pirates, the kind who look like they’d bite through steel for a quick coin. Fabien’s face twists into something feral, his blade swinging with a precision that’s quite impressive. And Vini? Fear still clings to his eyes, but he’s holding his own, ducking and weaving like his life depends on it.

What’s this? They’re in sync, moving like they’ve done this before. Vini jabs, Fabien strikes—both of them shifting as if they’re sharing a brain.

It’s baffling.

What the hell…?

But no time to sit back and marvel. They’re outnumbered, and the longer this drags on, the worse it’ll get. I signal to Gypsy, who’s already slipping around the far side, that fire in her eyes telling me she’s just itching to get a piece of the action. Fine by me.

I keep low, weapon in hand, gliding forward as silent as a shadow. One of the pirates has his back to me, all his attention on Vini, who’s making it his mission to dodge and stay out of reach. Poor bastard doesn’t even sense me until it’s too late— I slide the dagger between his ribs, give it a twist just to make sure, and he drops with a wet gasp.

One down.

Vini startles, eyes darting to the crumpled body, then to me, relief flickering across his face for half a second before he’s back to fending off another pirate.

“Oh, God! You’re a sight for sore eyes!” he squawks, voice high. Hard to believe he’s even lasted this long—he sounds like someone who’d fall over at a pebble. And by the look on his face, I’d bet he believes it too.

Yet somehow, the idiot’s holding his ground, dodging like a rabbit on the run, slipping out of reach just when they think they’ve got him.

“What happened?” I shout, sidestepping a blade and driving the pommel of my dagger into a pirate’s temple. He crumples to the ground.

Second down.

Over the chaos, I catch sight of Gypsy, her eyes fierce as she plunges into the fray. She bends forward slightly as she drives her elbow into the nearest pirate’s gut, following up with a knee to his jaw that sends him reeling back. That’s when she glances my way, a wicked glint in her eyes that speaks louder than words.

She’s enjoying this.

I smirk, barely sidestepping another pirate’s swing. Give Gypsy a task of writing a letter to her father and she won’t know what to do. Force her to identify her feelings, and she’ll crumble. But send her headfirst into a brawl, and she’ll thrive.

Fuck, she’s unstoppable.

Then there’s Fabien, slicing through bodies like he’s born for it. I might despise half the things about the man, but his skill with a blade? That I can’t deny. Just like he was back on that shipwreck—unforgiving, relentless. He’s not just ruthless; he’s a monster. A goddamn monster.

“We heard your scream!” Gypsy yells, her voice carrying over the clash of steel as she fends off another attacker. Can’t even tell which crew these bastards belong to—no familiar marks, no telling loyalties.

“The bard’s jumpy,” Fabien growls, still focused as he runs his sword through another man.

“ Jumpy ?“ Vini’s voice cracks, trembling. “I had a body fall on me! Let’s see you keep your nerve with someone’s guts in your lap!”

Fabien grunts, too busy disarming his latest victim to bother with a reply.

“This tells us nothing,” I snap, glancing around, eyes sharp. Trouble’s brewing from all angles. There has to be at least a dozen of men here.

“When I made the first move, there were less of them, alright?” Fabien snaps, irritation clear. “They must’ve called reinforcements. Didn’t expect to see this lot!”

“Maybe because you killed their leader, genius!” Vini squawks, diving out of the way of another wild swing. His face is practically scarlet with fear, but he’s sharper, quicker—he’s got a survival instinct like a bloody alley cat.

If Gypsy or I had instincts like that, we’d be untouchable. I mean, imagine either of us with double the speed and strength, tearing through our enemies. Hell, Gypsy would be a menace, alright.

Vinicola has never trained the art of battle before.

“We’ve gotta break their line!” I shout to Gypsy, catching her eye through the fray. “Get to the harbor, set sail before they’re all on us!”

“No!” Fabien roars, his voice grating. “I need my ecosystem!”

…His what?

I don’t even have time to blink at him. Ecosystem? We’re in a bloodbath, and he’s talking about some absurdity.

“What are you on about, Fabien?” I bark, slicing through a pirate who’s getting a little too close for comfort.

He doesn’t answer. He just keeps fighting with that anger of his so palpable it makes my tongue tart.

“Too much to explain,” he grunts finally, slashing his sword into a particularly scrawny pirate that looks like he doesn’t stand a chance against him but presses on regardless.

I watch, waiting for Fabien to take his head clean off, but at the last second, the pirate jerks sideways, just enough to save his skin. Mostly.

Fabien’s blade slices his ear clean off, sending the little scrap tumbling into the dirt alongside all the other mess of blood and guts littering the ground.

“Nice aim,” I call to him with a smirk, stepping over the severed ear like it’s no more than a rock in the road. But then man shrieks so loud it feels like he’s scraping my eardrums with a broken bottle, and my smile falls away.

Gods above.

Fabien chuckles, dark and low, while the pirate stumbles around clutching what’s left of his ear. He’s putting on quite a show, practically holding the line by himself, and from the looks on the other pirates’ faces, they’re about ready to piss themselves.

Next to me, Vini’s wheezing, hands on his knees, eyes glued to Fabien like he’s watching some sort of myth come to life.

“He’s got a few screws loose, alright,” he mutters, somewhere between awe and disgust. Not sure which one wins out.

It doesn’t last, though. Fabien finishes the job with a clean thrust through the chest, and the poor bastard’s blood sprays like a ripe melon, half of it splattering all over Vini, of course. Fabien doesn’t even blink.

Vini’s face twists, horror plain as day. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he whines, jerking back just as another pirate takes a wild swing that misses him by inches. “Why me?”

I sidestep, catching his attacker’s eye and drawing him toward me.

“Focus, bard!” I snap, deflecting a wild blow aimed square at my head. The pirate snarls, sensing an opening, but I sidestep his next lunge and drive my dagger into his side. He drops, and I yank my blade free, feeling my pulse drum in my ears.

Third down.

“With all due respect…” Vini pants, shifting his weight as he avoids another hit, “what do you think I’m doing?”

“Talking,” I shoot back, my tone sharp.

“That is how I focus!” he whimpers, his voice hitting a new pitch as he stumbles again.

I can’t help but snort, even as chaos churns around us.

We carve through another five minutes of this madness before a pirate turns, locking his gaze on Gypsy. His eyes go wide, a finger jabbing in her direction.

“Wait… I know you.” His mouth drops open in shock. “You’re Silverbeard’s daughter.”

Gypsy freezes, her eyes narrowing into something deadly. I see the gears turning, her mind cutting through the implications as quickly as mine. If this one knows of the Serpents, there’s a damn good chance he knows the Marauders too. If he’s got enough sense to recognize her under that cloak, he’s dealt with Serpents before.

In other words? This is very, very bad.

Gypsy’s grip tightens on her weapon, her posture turning rigid. I see the danger in that flicker of recognition in the pirate’s eyes—it’s a dynamite waiting to go off.

And worse? The bastard doesn’t stop there.

“Oi, the Serpents are in league with Rancour!” he bellows, loud enough for the whole damned sea to hear. “They’ve broken the treaty!”

Gypsy mutters, “What fucking treaty…?” eyebrows drawing tight as she tries to make sense of the accusation.

She’s trying to piece it together, but this is Silverbeard we’re talking about—a man with secrets as thick as his beard Gypsy knows he’s kept things under wraps, alliances she was never part of. Pirates are built on treachery and shifting loyalties; whatever twisted deal this pirate thinks he knows, she’s in the dark on it.

But explanations don’t matter to men with blood on their minds.

“Traitors!” Another pirate bellows, lunging at her with murder in his eyes.

“Gypsy!” I bark, but she’s already moving, blade flashing as she sidesteps the strike, leaving her attacker crumpled on the ground. No time to admire her work—the rest of them are nearly on us.

Fabien keeps swinging his sword like a demon, mowing down anyone who dares get close, but there’s too many of them, and the smell of blood’s only made them more dangerous.

“We’re getting out of here. Now.” My voice leaves no room for argument—this time, it’s a command.

She’s been recognized, and word will spread whether we survive this skirmish or not. Some of these bastards are bound to slip away, and Silverbeard will hear of it. When he does, he’ll know exactly where to find her.

Gypsy’s eyes meet mine, and I can see the realization dawning on her as well. The situation has spiraled beyond anything we could have anticipated. The pirates’ cries of betrayal echo in the narrow street, and I know that we’re moments away from being overwhelmed.

“Gypsy, we need to leave—now!” I shout again, and in my rush, I let my guard slip—just for a second too long. A pirate lunges at me, seizing my cloak and wrenching me back, his dagger slashing through the fabric from shoulder to waist.

He grins, dagger poised to finish the job. But instinct kicks in—I twist, tearing free, and my blade’s already swinging up, catching him in one clean, brutal strike. He drops, eyes wide, taking in the Marauder tattoo on my chest.

“A Marauder,” he mutters, voice barely a whisper before he crumples. “Serpents and Marauders fighting together—“

I don’t have time to think. My body moves on its own. My weapon darts toward him, aiming to kill. The blade doesn’t find its mark, but it slashes across his arm anyway.

But the bastard gets away, shouting the whole damn thing—“Marauders!”—like a broken record with no off switch.

“Fuck.” And here I thought it was bad before.

No, this is worse. Way worse.

Roche is going to have my head for this, I already know. But as the word “Marauder” passes through the crowd, I catch a glint of fear in their eyes, and it’s spreading. Even among the boldest, the ones who might actually stand a chance against me, there’s hesitation. They know Roche’s reputation—hell, everyone in these waters does—and nobody with any sense wants to go up against him.

Of course, no Marauders are going to swoop in to save my ass. This fight’s on me, and I’ve just managed to stoke a whole other fire, one that Roche will want to put out. And if there’s one thing I know about that grey-haired monster, it’s that he’ll take down anyone who stands in his way—doesn’t matter how long it takes.

The more that thought sinks in, the quicker the rest of them start to back off, uncertainty creeping over them like the plague. It’s almost laughable—the shift from bloodthirsty determination to pure, naked fear. They’re looking at me like I’m the devil himself, and, well, maybe I am. Just not in the way they think.

Before long, they start scattering. The rush to escape is almost tangible, a herd sensing a predator. Not that I blame them. Because Roche? Yeah, Roche is a terrifying son of a bitch.

The idea of him catching wind of me, knowing I’m here with Gypsy—it makes my skin crawl. Will he make a target of her? No doubt. Question is, how soon. But she can’t be at the top of his list. Not while I’m here.

I’d rather he come straight at me, anyway. I’m the one who betrayed him. First by leaving, now by stirring up the sort of rumors that tarnish his precious reputation. If he’s got a score to settle, I’m right here.

The pirates are gone, and the immediate threat with them. But the silence they leave? It’s the kind that sinks into your bones, like the stillness before a storm. You’d almost rather have the noise.

I glance over at Fabien, heat simmering under my skin. “Get your damn ecosystem, or whatever you call it, sorted out,” I snap. “We need to move.”

He nods slowly, wiping his blade clean.