6. Gypsy

6

Gypsy

I spend the night on the sands, fingers wrapped so tight around my pistols that my knuckles are screaming. Sleep isn’t even an option. How could it be? My eyes are fixed on Medusa’s Gaze, waiting for that damn ship to vanish—just a speck on the horizon. The ship I was supposed to command one day. The ship they tossed me off of like I was nothing.

After leaving the Serpents behind, I made my way along the shoreline, staying wide and out of sight. Skullcove Haven’s dock never left my view, but I made sure I stayed far enough from Silverbeard’s gaze—and those damn loyal fools that still follow him like sheep. No lanterns to give me away. Just sand underfoot, jungle creeping at my back, and that damned moon hanging overhead, casting everything in sharp silver light.

Now, I press myself into the sand, blending in like driftwood washed ashore, lying motionless beside the debris the tide spat out long before I got here. If any poachers or scouts are scanning the coast, they won’t see me. Still, I don’t move. I keep myself as still as the wood beside me. Just in case.

One doesn’t have a lot of leeway when she’s out here alone, no crew to back her up.

The Serpents don’t leave right away. Their lanterns glow like distant fireflies, hanging at the docks, lingering. They’re doing what they always do—drinking, feasting, filling the hull with supplies. Business as usual. It’s almost like my banishment is just a passing note in their plans. Nothing changes, except I’m not aboard anymore.

I still have time. If I wanted to crawl back, grovel at my father’s feet, I could.

They’d take me back, even if they made me bleed for it.

My fists tighten around the pistols, and the thought alone makes me want to tear up the sand and scream. I could beg. Apologize for “challenging their beliefs” or whatever they think I did wrong. Sure, they’d flog me for bedding Zayan, but they’d twist the story like they always do, smooth it over with a good tale, and life would go on. Hell, if I handed over the compass, they’d sweep everything under the rug so fast, it’d be like I never left.

But I can’t. I won’t.

The fire in my chest burns too bright for that. Every time I think about them—about their blind faith in some sea goddess who’s never done a damn thing for us—I get closer to marching back there just to spit in their faces. They threw me away over a cursed compass. Over gods and superstitions. That’s the real reason.

The news of me and Zayan? That was just fuel for their fire.

First light crawls over the horizon, turning the sky from black to a fiery gold. The gulls are already screeching their damn heads off, diving at the docks like it’s their first meal in weeks. The ship’s sails snap open, catching the morning wind, and I hear the ropes groan like old bones.

And there he is. My father. Just a shadow at the helm, but I know it’s him. Always the captain, always at the wheel, like nothing’s changed. As if the world doesn’t shift under his feet the same way it does mine. One by one, the lanterns flicker out, and soon enough, Medusa’s Gaze is just a ghost on the water, fading into the distance.

I am a part of the Sly Serpents no more.

The thought should sting, but it doesn’t—not as much as I expected. I stand up, my legs stiff from a night spent on this cursed sand, and brush it off my pants. My eyes stay fixed on the horizon where the ship disappeared. In the duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I’ve got just enough to get by: four changes of clothes, two days’ worth of water, a week’s supply of salted meat, and enough rations to last me until… well, until I figure out my next move.

One thing’s for damn sure: I need a ship. And I need one before my supplies run dry.

Time to make a plan.