38. Gypsy

38

Gypsy

I narrow my eyes at Vinicola and Fabien, watching for the answer to sink in, but they just stand there, clueless.

“Are you serious?” I arch an eyebrow, folding my arms and leaning back slightly. “You don’t really need me to spell this out, do you?”

Vinicola beams, looking far too pleased with himself for tossing out a riddle he clearly doesn’t understand. Meanwhile, Fabien wears that expression I’ve come to call his “soft scowl”—which is really just a neutral face that ends up looking like someone’s pissed in his rum.

They exchange a glance—confused, like they’ve been at this a while and are no closer to an answer. I let the silence grow, savoring how they squirm, and feel a smirk tugging at my lips. This is almost too easy.

At last, Vinicola breaks, scratching his neck, looking all sheepish. “So, if we’re being honest here, Captain… I think I’m missing the mark.”

I catch the sight of Zayan, leaning against the wall behind the two of them. His eyes hold a glint that tells me he’s already figured it out, enjoying the show as much as I am.

“Think I should enlighten them?” I ask, tipping my chin toward him.

He shrugs, all nonchalance, though there’s that wicked gleam in his eyes. “Do as you like, love. But if I were you, I’d rub it in Rancour’s face a bit—show him he’s not as all-knowing as he likes to believe.”

I chuckle, relishing the flicker of irritation on Fabien’s face. His pride is hanging by a thread, and I can almost feel him biting his tongue to keep from snapping.

“Do I need to remind anyone that it’s the goddess’s riddle we’re talking about?” Fabien growls, voice tight with frustration. “If you have the answer, Captain, just spit it out.”

I arch an eyebrow, letting the tension simmer, just to watch him squirm a second longer. “Oh, so now you’re asking for the answer, are you?”

Fabien’s soft scowl deepens, his gaze unwavering as if sheer force of will might extract the answer from me. Vinicola, meanwhile, has shifted from sheepish to slightly worried, his hands now tucked behind his back.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, I finally give in. “Fine. I’ll spare you the agony. The answer, my dear, baffled crewmates”—I lean in, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper—“is the moon .”

Vinicola’s eyes light up, the gears clicking into place in his head, his mouth falling open in sudden revelation. “The moon—of course! It controls the tides!”

“Brilliant deduction, Vinicola,” I say, voice dripping with mock admiration. “You’ve just cracked what every sailor worth his salt learns before he can even walk.”

Fabien narrows his eyes, not one to take mockery lightly. “I should’ve just asked Ridley—he’s been captaining longer than I’ve known the sea,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else, sounding almost insulted that something so simple had eluded him.

From his spot against the wall, Zayan lets out a low, lazy chuckle. “No worries, Rancour,” he drawls, crossing his arms, “you’ve got plenty to be smug about without this one.”

Fabien glares, his jaw tight as ever, but then—of all things—he actually lets out a low, almost reluctant chuckle. It’s barely there, more like a hint of humor twisted into resignation.

What in the hell? Fabien Rancour… chuckling? The same man who’d sooner chew nails than crack a smile?

“Fine,” he mutters, his mouth barely curling into a smirk. “The moon. Noted.” His gaze flicks to me, carrying something a notch above grudging respect—almost warmer. “Thanks.”

Speechless isn’t usually my style, but I’m damn close to it now. The sourest, most miserable man I know—even more so than Silverbeard on a bad day, and that’s saying something—just laughed. Hell, maybe Vinicola’s finally wearing him down.

I give him a slow nod.

Zayan peels off the wall and saunters over, his smirk broadening. “Now that we’re all experts on lunar influence,” he drawls, “maybe we can move along before the goddess herself decides to come down and knock some sense into us.”

My gaze flicks to the narrow window in the captain’s quarters, where the sky outside is darkening, the sun barely clinging to the horizon. Soon enough, night will swallow it whole, and the moon will take over.

“Not long now,” I mutter, more to myself than to the others. “An hour, maybe two, before we’ve got enough light to work with. Needs direct moonlight, right?”

Fabien gives a curt nod, his voice low. “Yes. Direct moonlight.”

Vinicola’s gaze flits to my hip. “And the compass?”

I reach into my pocket, feeling the weight of the metal in my hand, and glance at the needle spinning erratically. “Still no north, just circles.”

“So,” Zayan chimes in, rubbing his chin, “the hourglass remains our only guide to whatever it is she —“ he tips his head upward, a mocking nod to the heavens—“wants us to find.”

I take a breath, settling my gaze on each of them in turn. “We stay put until moonrise. No point in setting sail without a heading.” I narrow my eyes at Zayan. “For all we know, the safest place for us is right here, within the gateway.”

Vinicola shifts uncomfortably. “Unless that blasted shark’s still out there.”

I feel a chill crawl up my spine, and I know he’s not the only one still rattled by that thing. But before I can say anything, Zayan steps in.

“I doubt it,” he says, his tone dismissive. “It seemed bound to that test, to guarding the hourglass. It wasn’t any ordinary shark. I’d wager it’s got no reason to come after us now.”

I nod, glancing at the deck beneath my feet as if gathering my own footing before meeting their eyes again. “Even if it’s out there, we’re better off facing it from the surface, with weapons in hand.” My arms cross over my chest. “So the plan stands—we wait for moonlight. See what the hourglass shows us and make our move after. Any objections?”

I look around, waiting, but no one speaks up. Seems we’re all in agreement. That’s when Vinicola’s voice cuts through the silence.

“So, how about a celebration?” he chirps, a grin on his face. “The crew’s going wild—everyone’s delighted that Mr. Zayan made it out in one piece. If we’ve got an hour or two to spare…”

“I’m not sure Zayan should be drinking after his heart nearly gave out…” Fabien mutters, but Vini only waves him off.

“If the sea didn’t kill him, a little rum won’t either,” he quips. “Right?”

And that, really, is the only encouragement we need.

Soon enough, we’re sprawled out across the deck, four bottles of rum making their way around our little circle, the hourglass between us, casting faint shadows in the lamplight. The sky’s thick with clouds, hiding any stars, but the night’s warm, and the moon slipping from behind that cover is just a matter of time.

Vinicola tips his bottle back, letting out a satisfied sigh as he lowers it. “To the moon,” he toasts, holding it up with a bright grin. “And to us, who somehow managed to survive the craziest predicament I’ve ever been in.”

Fabien lets out a tired sigh, clinking bottles reluctantly. There’s a flicker of something—maybe amusement—as he shakes his head. Zayan, on the other hand, smirks, his bottle barely lifted, eyes glinting in that lazy, devil-may-care way of his. “To the moon,” he echoes, his tone thick with irony. “May it spare us a few more days.”

I take a long pull from the bottle, letting the rum burn its way down, thick and sharp, until it settles low in my gut. My fingers grip the neck hard enough that my knuckles ache, steadying the slight wobble in my hand. Leaning back against the rough wood of the ship’s railing, I keep my eyes fixed on the dark horizon, feeling the press of salt air.

“Here’s to surviving,” I mutter, my voice rougher than I intended. The others don’t need to hear it, and frankly, I’m not talking to them anyway.

This moment—the calm before whatever madness awaits—is something I didn’t think I’d appreciate, especially not with the likes of Fabien.

It seems not so long ago that I was stealing a ship from two pirates who held Vinicola hostage beneath the deck. To think that that little schooner is already at the bottom of the sea…

But here I am. Somewhat content. Maybe even happy.

Vinicola leans back beside me, eyes on the shadowed sky. “Think it’s all that entertaining?” he murmurs, a wry smile at his lips. “Watching us scramble around like crabs on the beach?”

For a second, I almost laugh.

He doesn’t need to clarify what he’s talking about. We all know. The goddess watches us, mortals. For what reason, I couldn’t guess.

“Crabs have more dignity,” Fabien mutters, taking a swig of his drink.

“Maybe she’s just even more of a bitch than we thought?” I muse, swirling the rum in my bottle.

“I always knew she was the worst damn bitch out there.” Fabien snorts.

Zayan chuckles, stretching his legs out as he leans back. “Yeah, she got you good. What the fuck was that with you not aging? How did that even work?”

Fabien’s eyes narrow, and for a second, I expect him to snap. But he just takes another drink, barely looking Zayan’s way. “You think I understand it any better than you?” he mutters. “After the… tragedy, I washed up on an island, nothing special at first. Thought I’d die of thirst or hunger, but she had other plans. Trapped me there until she got bored.”

“Did she ever, though?” Vinicola quips, still watching the sky.

Fabien turns to look at him. “Yeah, fuck no. Guess I’m still her plaything. That’s why I’m even here, right?”

Vinicola shrugs, grinning. “One could argue you like it this way, though.”

“Ah, shut it.” Fabien’s scowl deepens, but he raises the bottle all the same.

Vinicola just laughs, unbothered, and tilts his head back to watch the sky, his gaze roaming over the dark clouds. “Here’s to that, then,” he says with a grin. “For what it’s worth, you’re not the worst crewmate. You came through when I was ready to let the sands have me.”

Fabien snorts. “I didn’t do it for you,” he mutters, but he can’t fool me anymore. He’s cracking more and more by the moment. First he’s smiling, then he’s talking about his past like it’s nothing. Now, he’s just inches away from letting himself admit he’s close to Vinicola.

Fabien Rancour—layer upon layer of cynicism, yet every so often, one slips, peeling away.

“Of course,” Vini replies. “But you did it all the same.”

I catch Zayan’s eye, and a grin quirks up the corner of his mouth. “Would you look at that,” he murmurs, and a chuckle slips out of me before I can stop it.

There’s something we both get, something Fabien and Vinicola haven’t grasped yet. A crew isn’t just a collection of souls stuffed into a ship—it’s a lifeline. You might hate each other, might argue, but when the moment comes, you know you’ll pull each other out of the water. It’s deeper than loyalty and, in some ways, maybe more shallow. Just instinct. Lives tangled up in each other, survival tied together.

Saving a life isn’t something anyone needs to be thanked for. Not really.

But then Fabien shifts, scowling harder. His jaw clenches, lips pressed tight as he glances our way, his eyes flicking to the hourglass.

Finally, he grunts, “Go ahead, laugh it up.” He looks away, crossing his arms like he’s bracing for an attack. “But… I owe you one. Both of you.”

“Fuck me,” Zayan says, half-laughing. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

Fabien’s scowl deepens, but before he can sink back into that dark place he calls a mind, Zayan lifts his bottle lazily.

“Crew’s crew, right?” He clinks his bottle against Fabien’s, watching the man twitch, and adds, “Not gonna let you down just because you’re a miserable piece of shit.”

Fabien’s lip twitches. “Don’t push it.”

“Why not, when it gets a rise out of you?”

A rough sound escapes Fabien—a laugh he seems to choke on halfway. His fingers loosen on the bottle, and after a beat, he sets it down, exhaling like he’s trying to bury whatever’s clawing at his insides.

“This is getting out of control,” he mutters, barely audible.

Vinicola, of course, is soaking it all in, eyes keen despite the haze of rum.

“Lighten up,” he says, purring the words. “When was the last time you let loose? If you’re not careful, I might just go get Ridley. He’s bound to spill something worth hearing.”

Fabien grunts. “Leave the old man be. Fool drank himself under the table. Hasn’t touched rum in years, and now he decides tonight’s the night to catch up.”

A crash and a round of laughter spill out from the lounge, followed by the sight of two sailors stumbling out for fresh air, tripping over their own damn feet and sprawling on the deck like beached fish. I can’t help but let out a sharp laugh as they tumble.

“You two all right?” I call, arching a brow as they pull themselves up, wobbly but grinning.

“Aye, Captain!” one shouts, with a look that’s more reckless than steady. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Last two years, we’ve barely had a reason to breathe, let alone celebrate,” the other slurs, wiping sweat from his brow. “Feels like a damn miracle to have you aboard. And a miracle Mr. Zayan survived!”

“True miracle,” his mate echoes, raising an imaginary glass. “Cheers to that! And to think we saw an island rise out of the sea…”

“Shh,” the other hisses, swaying slightly as he glances around with that half-drunken, half-superstitious look. “Old Ridley warned us not to talk about that out loud. Says the goddess might hear.”

I catch Fabien’s unimpressed glare at their display, and I lean back against the deck, arms crossed. “You’d do well to listen to Old Ridley,” I remark, giving them both a lazy once-over as they wobble. “He’s likely the smartest man around.”

“Aye, maybe best to tread careful,” one mumbles, looking a little paler, “don’t want her getting any ideas.”

“Wise choice, boys,” I add with a smirk as they stumble off. In all seriousness, they’re right to stay wary. No point taunting that sea bitch, drunk or not.

Fabien shakes his head beside me, his gaze lingering on them as they disappear below deck. “I don’t know how you manage it.”

I arch a brow, glancing at him. “Manage what?”

He hesitates, something almost curious in his tone. “How you keep them in line. What’s it been, two weeks at the helm? And they listen. Hell, they seem… comfortable. Not… scared .”

I shrug, glancing back out over the waves. “I do what a captain ought to.”

“Which is what?”

I half-smirk, feeling the words pull up from somewhere deep and worn. “I remind them I’ll keep them alive, no matter the cost. Steady the ship, hold it through hell if that’s what it takes. But it’s more than that—I make damn sure they know we’re all bound to the same fate. Every drop of sweat, every muscle strain. We fight as one, or we go down as one.”

It’s ridiculous to think I’d do something like that for a crew I barely met. But what can I say…? They’re mine now. My crew. And I’ll be damned if I let any one of them slip through the cracks.

Zayan nudges me in the ribs with two fingers, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Easy now, love. You’re sounding suspiciously like Roche. Silverbeard drill that into you?”

I scoff, jaw tightening at the thought. “Silverbeard’s got his strengths, sure. But he’s clinging to some fool’s faith in The Lady that I’ll never stomach, let alone share. No… I like to think I’ve got my own mind on that.”

Whatever my father thinks he’s got going with the goddess—thinking she’s keeping pirates afloat and watching over their every move with care—we couldn’t be more different.

I didn’t used to believe in her at all. Now I know she’s out there, alright. But my opinion hasn’t shifted an inch. She’s not something I’d ever pray to, and if she’s keeping an eye on me, I’d just as soon spit in it.

If I could, I’d grind her bones to dust.

“Even after I’d have clawed my way through every Trial and shattered every shackle, it wouldn’t change a thing in me. But him? He’d toss himself overboard—and maybe a few others—for that ridiculous faith of his.” I cast Zayan a sideways glance. “Roche? Any wiser?”

Zayan lets out a dry chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, he’ll say she’s real, alright. But if he had his way? He’d see her vanish, curse and all.”

I shrug, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Shame. Almost sounds like someone I’d have reason to stand beside.”

Fabien’s quiet, but his eyes darken. “Not many would have the guts to go against her.”

“Too bad he’d kill all of us the first chance he gets,” Zayan quips.

I hold his gaze a beat longer than I mean to, letting his words settle in. Maybe it’s the rum, or maybe the irony isn’t lost on me, but my thoughts drift in a direction they don’t usually go. For a flicker of a moment, I put myself in Roche’s shoes.

Let’s say I’ve got an enemy. One who’s crossed me more times than I can count, one who’d love to see me strung up like a trophy. And through every cursed battle, I’ve had my crew—no, not family, because family will sell you out for a few coins if it suits them. My crew is different. They’re the only souls I’ve ever trusted, and that’s saying something.

But what if they turned on me? If the ones who swore to have my back in storm and blood suddenly… left?

I’d hunt them down myself. Track them across every tide, every port, and beyond every cursed horizon until they were mine to deal with. Betrayal cuts deeper than any blade, and the idea of it from those I’d trusted… It makes my blood go cold.

That’s when it hits me: I understand Roche, the leader of the Crimson Marauders. Maybe better than I’d care to admit. And I get why he’d spill blood to have Zayan strung up, and me right along with him, just for lending him a hand at survival.

It’s too personal. Too painful to let slip by.

“Aye, too bad,” I murmur, tipping the rum to my lips, savoring the burn as it cuts through the bitterness coiled in my gut.

The deck is quiet, save for the distant hum of the sea, when suddenly, the night shifts around us. Moonlight spills over the wood, pooling in strange patterns until it circles the hourglass at the center of our group. I blink, instinctively straightening as a shimmer of blue light begins to wrap around us.

It’s… eerie.

“That didn’t happen with the sunlight,” Fabien mutters, breaking the quiet.

I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there when Fabien and Vinicola saw whatever message it left them in daylight. But this? This isn’t some trick or sleight of hand. No, this feels too damn real. Like something alive . Almost like magic—if I believed in that kind of thing.

The halo around the hourglass expands, spreading out in lines and patterns until it forms something that could almost be mistaken for a piece of art. Sharp lines that twist into symbols and shapes. I don’t understand them, no. But I feel them.

Somehow, deep down, I know what they are.

“It’s a map,” I murmur, feeling the words slip out before I’ve even processed them.

It’s only when I blink a couple more times that my eyes seem to catch up with the feeling. I spot a small, distinct X mark near the edge of the floating-like moonlight.

I’m not the only one who notices something in it. Vinicola jumps to his feet beside me, his eyes wide, hands tangled in his hair

“There’s…there’s a poem here, too,” he says, nearly breathless, stepping up next to me. “Right here.”

I squint, following his outstretched hand, but I don’t see a damn thing. Just that empty patch of nothing he’s pointing at. Then he starts to recite something out loud:

“The sun and moon are lovers true, Both run from me, yet both pursue. One warms my soul, ignites my veins, The other breathes life, through night it reigns.

The first Trial calls, my champions four, Seek out the entrance, find the door. You have two days, and on the third, Be there when my first breath is heard.

On that breath, the door will yield, But fail in time, your fate is sealed. If you’re not there when moment’s due, Death’s cruel hand will come for you.”

Fabien and Zayan stand up, and I just… stare, speechless.

Damn it, I’ll never get used to this damned nonsense.

“Four champions, huh?” Zayan mutters, finally breaking the silence. His gaze flicks over each of us. “At least she didn’t say ‘ little champions’ this time.”

Fabien grunts, his hand drifting near his blade. That’s instinct talking, and if I had to guess, he’s fully sober by now. Hell, judging by my own nerves, so am I.

Vinicola lets out a low whistle, rocking back on his heels. “Normally, I’d call this one hell of a beautiful poem,” he mutters, scratching his head. “But I’m not a fan of ‘death’ and ‘cruel’ cozying up like that. Maybe ‘metaphorical death’ would sound better?” He looks around, as if the damn goddess herself might chime in.

If she did, I’d gladly empty a round in her face and send her straight back to whatever depths she crawled out of.

“Two days...” Zayan says. “Not much time.”

Two days. Just two days to find the entrance and be there the moment she draws her first breath, whatever that means. Failure means death.

“It is not,” I say, keeping my voice calm, even though my heart’s racing. “We need to figure out where this place is and get there as fast as we can.”

Fabien nods. “I don’t see no goddamn map, but if you do, we need to find a way to show the map to Ridley. Chances are he’ll know the terrain.”

Solid idea—if only Ridley wasn’t too drunk to tell a mast from a mermaid.

“Damn it,” I curse. “Vini, find some parchment and a piece of coal. We need to write this down while there’s still moonlight.”

The bard breaks into a run without so much as a second thought.

I stay where I am, locking every line and fold of that cursed map into my mind. Lady’s riddles and cryptic nonsense—if anyone had told me a month ago that I’d be relying on pieces of glass and hunting down invisible maps, I’d… fuck, I don’t know what I’d do.

At this rate, I think I’d just shoot a bullet through my own brain.

Deem myself a lost cause.

But as it is? I have a crew to captain. And, most importantly, a goddess to destroy.

Ain’t no one dying on my watch—be it me or anyone else. I’ll take us to this place even if my life depends on it.