Chapter 34, Sarah

  I hadn’t planned on joining the gathering on the stern deck, but my sore feet carry me there anyway.

  The lower stern deck is really just a private balcony for the Captain’s quarters. Letting myself in to access the balcony doesn’t feel right, especially after how awkward Roberts was earlier. Instead, I take the longer route and approach from the upper stern deck.

  Cheerful voices drift up to me as I step gingerly down the steep staircase, favoring my injured foot.

  A gregarious voice is singing a song, accompanied by the whine of a harmonica and the thrum of a stringed instrument. I reach the bottom stair and my eyes confirm it. Harken is holding a bottle of rum, wobbling as he clings to the rail and singing his heart out.

  I laugh. “Glad to see you on your feet, Harken.” I say, my words drowning in the music.

  “Barely,” Sonya calls out. She’s sitting on the deck with her back against the cabin door, Jake nestled between her knees.

  Manee sees me and hits a long note on the harmonica, wailing on it and drawing it out. Quill is beside them, plucking a mandolin and tapping her foot in time.

  Jake raises a bottle in my direction. “Sarah! Drink?”

  “No thanks.” I smile.

  It’s crowded, but everyone looks comfortable. Roberts nods to the space beside her, patting the floor between her and Manee. I don’t see another open spot so I plop down, hugging both knees to my chest.

  “Stitches look good,” Sonya calls, raising her voice over Harken’s. “Did a nice job on Manee too. It’s good to know there’s another pair of steady hands on board.”

  “Happy to help,” I shout.

  Sonya passes me a platter of cheeses, dried meats, olives and other spoils of war. I toss a handful of nuts in my mouth and take an apple for later.

  The song ends and Harken flops down, his breathing labored.

  “Take it easy, Hark.” Roberts says.

  “What’s next?” Harken drawls. “How Hellcat Was Named!” He answers his own question. “For Captain Roberts who finally avenged us!” He takes another swig. “And for Sarah, who rushed from the hold and turned the tides, just like you did all those years ago.”

  Harken holds the bottle high, saluting Roberts with a grin and a bow of his head. Then he looks up, eyes wide. “The similarity is striking really, I can’t be the only one who noticed—”

  Roberts scoffs. “Shut up and sing, Hark. If you must.”

  “But let me accompany him,” Jake says, then turns to Harken. “No offense but, you always mess up the chorus.”

  Harken nods to Jake as Quill takes the bottle from him and sets it down beside her. Her foot taps, counting herself in. Then she strums, a sound that promises a tale of epic proportions.

  Manee brings the harmonica to their lips with a flourish and starts to play. This time the notes that come out are less thin and wailing, more soft and breathy.

  Jake clears his throat and begins singing. His voice is deep and foreboding. “Tobias sailed with greedy eyes. On a slaver's ship, he set his sights. Despite his might, to his chagrin, the haul was not an easy win.”

  Roberts stretches, tilting her head to the side. Then she absent mindedly drags a thumb across her bottom lip.

  Of all the moods I’ve seen her put on, this one gets under my skin the most. The one where she lets her crew worship her, lets the world revolve around her.

  Because beneath all that arrogance and bravado is Darlene. The same girl I sat beside in school. How did she become this? Why did she get to become the kind of person who owns the space around her without even trying?

  Anytime I was in command, we came up short. My soldiers died because I couldn't make the tough calls. It’s better when I just do the killing and nothing else.

  But not Roberts. She has it all. And I’m realizing at this moment that I resent her for it. And I resent myself even more for caring.

  The harmonica changes tune, eerie and sharp. Harken picks up the next verse, his voice quicker now. Like the story is giving him life. “Blade met blade and blow met blow, the slavers fought him to a hold. Tobias pressed by many a foe, when feral howl came from below.”

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  Roberts hand weaves lazily through the air, following the melody of Manee’s harmonica. Like she’s heard it a hundred times and could sing it in her sleep. It’s taking every ounce of my resolve not to stare at her.

  I’m trying to focus on the meaning in the song, when I feel something brush against my fingers. I look down at Roberts hand, the one she isn’t waving. It happens again and this time I see her fingers ghosting over the back of mine.

  The touch is so light it sends sparks up my arm. My breath catches. It could be nothing, just a shift in the way we’re all sitting, packed closely together on the deck. So I pretend it didn’t happen.

  I steal another glance at her. One hand still flicks idly through the air, tracing invisible patterns. She barely looks interested. The song rolls on, voices rising into the night.

  “Unbroken slave, with steel in hand! She snapped her chains and made her stand! Slavers fell, she carved her path, blood and fury in her wrath! Tobias cried: ‘let her inspire! A cat from hell with claws like fire!’”

  Manee leans down, forcing air into the harmonica, fast and frenzied, echoing the heartbeat of a fight. Harken and Jake now trade lines like clashing swords.

  “The day was won, but one could say, new chains were made to make her stay. She bled for him, and bent for him, from slavery to fate as grim.”

  Roberts’ palm comes to rest on the back of mine. Electricity surges through my limbs, and the back of my ears flash hot. But still I pretend it’s nothing. That I’m focused on the song, the story being told. Is she testing to see if I’ll pull away?

  But then Roberts makes it something. A slow drag of her fingertips over the back of my hand.

  My stomach lurches, like a thousand butterflies trying to escape. It’s all I can do to keep my face still, my hand still.

  Then a gentle brush over the seam between my index and middle finger. A slow graze in the tender space between my thumb and forefinger, trailing towards my wrist.

  I shiver. I should pull away. But I don’t.

  This isn’t like what happened earlier. When I held her hands in mine, trying to comfort her. This is…I don’t know what this is. But Roberts seems to.

  Again her hand comes to rest on the back of mine, the warmth seeping into me like a flame seeking oxygen. Then she flashes me a sidelong glance, the slightest curve tugging at the corner of her mouth. A casual smile that vanishes quickly, acknowledging nothing about the way she’s holding me.

  “Then one day came a pirate bold, The Captain Roberts, fierce and old. Tobias cried: ‘let her inspire! I call upon the hellcat’s fire!’ But Hellcat saw her chance to flee, into Tobias’s hands she drove blades three.

  Now Hellcat fought by Robert's side, a mightier pair rarely spied! They beat Tobias back to the sea, won Hellcat a life free of slavery. Then one day Captain Roberts said, I’ve had my fill, I’ve made my bed. You’re wise and wild, both feared and famed. Take my ships, my flag, my name.

  And so it was, the tale was spun, the nameless slave, the feral one, became a legend bold and free. And Hellcat ruled the endless seas.”

  The song winds down, voices tapering off. Quill plucks at the strings each time quieter than the last.

  Roberts inherited the name, that was all I managed to glean. If I could just pull my hand away, sever the connection, I might be able to piece it together. But my willpower is as fragmented as the story swirling in my unconscious mind.

  "That was beautiful, truly. Any more, and I shall perish from the sound of your angelic voices," Roberts says.

  Manee laughs, playing one last overly energetic note and Harken mutters a curse at her dramatics.

  Sonya smirks, tipping her glass to catch the starlight. "Her flagship was called Serpent’s Saber—toss a dead rat in these waters and you’ll hit a ship with Serpent in the name. Serpent’s Fang, Serpent’s Wrath, Serpent’s Mistress—" she rolls her eyes, "Men and their dicks, I swear."

  The group erupts into laughter, and even Roberts huffs an amused breath. But not me, I’m frozen in time, holding onto the present by a thread.

  Roberts takes my hand by the wrist. This time there's more force in her touch. She’s not probing when she turns my hand over, resting it, open-palmed on the deck.

  Sonya swirls her cup. "It was part of the deal, taking the name Roberts. But he never said anything about the ship. So, the Captain called her Hellcat."

  I try to look natural as Sonya glances over, even though I’m shuddering. She’s talking to me, but it’s almost impossible to feign interest. Raising my brows is all I can offer.

  "Some say her fondness for the name Hellcat was a way of spitting in the face of the man who gave it to her." Sonya says, taking a sip from her cup.

  Roberts’ drags her middle finger on the inside of my palm. The shapes she’s drawing are letters. I… W… My heart beats like an incessant drum. A…N…

  "Took his insult and made it something whispered in fear, shouted in battle," Sonya’s voice barely registers in my ears, which are burning, searing, red-hot. "Sung in ports from here to the edge of the world."

  …T. And that’s the moment she wrecks me. She stops drawing and leaves her finger there, where she crossed the T. Like she knows the heat that’s been pooling in my low belly is flooding the space between my legs. I blink hard, trying to clear the flecks of light clouding my vision. Trying to control my uneven breaths, to maintain the illusion that nothing is happening. But my eyelids are heavy and it's taking all of my strength to hold my head steady, to stop myself from drifting into her, seeking warmth in the curve of her bare neck.

  Then Roberts pulls her hand away. She stands.

  The absence of her is brutal. Like plunging into an ice-cold lake, the shock slamming into me, stealing the breath from my lungs.

  Sonya grins. "But you’ll never hear it from her—" she lifts her drink in a toast. "A legend never tells her own tales.”