Chapter Text
The ship, moored at the end of the wharf, was nothing special. The sails were furled tight against the masts, and though they were of decent quality, they looked as though they had seen their share of time at sea. The hull was faded and had long gouges in it, as though it had been dashed against sharp rocks more than once. It was not the kind of ship that the Crown Prince of Vere would ever step foot on.
Which was exactly why it held so much appeal to Laurent.
He didn’t remember making a conscious decision to leave—running was not in his blood, and his pride stung at the thought of letting his uncle win. But the last attempt on Laurent’s life had been so brazen that he knew to stay would be his death, sooner rather than later. So when his uncle had been looking the other way, he had slipped down an alleyway, ducking carefully through the crowds, keeping a sharp eye behind him for guards.
He had paused in a shadow long enough to strip off his fine jacket, leaving him only in his white undershirt, and had traded it with a beggar for a tattered vest to cover as much of the expensive fabric as possible. He’d intentionally disturbed his hair into a haphazard ruffle, letting pieces fall across his forehead in a disorderly tangle that he would never allow at any other time. It had been the best disguise he could manage under such circumstances, and he had continued on his way to his destination.
The wharf had always been one of his favorite places, full of people from all different walks of life, full of life and possibility and the sense that anything was possible. Laurent supposed it was a feeling that remained from his childhood, when Auguste would lift him up to the helm of The Veretian Queen and tell him that, one day, this would all be theirs. He would paint a future in which they could go wherever they wanted, leaving behind the trappings of land and the snares of the palace, sailing beyond the horizons to whatever may be hiding in the fading rays of the sun. Their only limits would be the speed of the wind and the shape of the tide. He had promised.
But dead men kept no promises.
Laurent lifted his chin and strode forward, pushing Auguste out of his mind. His uncle would have a search going now throughout the city, and it wouldn’t be long before he decided to check the wharf. It was no secret how much Laurent loved it. He had to get aboard a ship as soon as possible. And he knew which one he wanted.
As he approached the end of the wharf, he took a closer look at the ship, an appraising sweep that took in the quality beneath the surface impression. Despite the wind-beaten sails and sun-bleached wood, the ship was an impressive size, and was clearly well-cared for. The figurehead on the bow was a great lion, rearing forth as though it had been leaping for its freedom as it was trapped in the wood of the ship. Its forepaws were outstretched, reaching towards the horizon, its mouth opened in a permanent, silent roar, its mane flowing back as though caught in the wind coming off the sea.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Laurent started at the deep voice that spoke beside him, jolting him out of his reverie. He turned cautiously towards the speaker, heart beating against his ribs. He wasn’t exactly anonymous here—most of the inhabitants of the city had seen him, at least from a distance. His blond hair and pale skin was a rare combination in Vere, a gift from his mother’s side. If he was recognized, this escape was over before it had begun.
The man standing beside him was handsome—very handsome, Laurent admitted to himself with some annoyance—and nearly a foot taller than Laurent. His brown skin was tanned even deeper by long exposure to the sun, his dark hair curling just around his ears, tousled a bit with the breeze coming off the water. He was dressed richly, with a heavy red cloak draped across his shoulders. Light flashed off the golden gem in his ear, and, as he turned to look at Laurent, he was startled to see that the man wore a patch over one eye. It did nothing to detract from his features.
Laurent cleared his throat, turning back to the ship. “Are you among the crew?”
The man laughed, low in his throat. “Yes,” he said, regarding the ship proudly. Laurent had seen that look before, in men as they gazed at their lovers. He had never seen anyone look that way at a ship, however, not even his father. The man turned towards Laurent. “Her name is The Egeria, and I am her captain, Damianos.”
Laurent froze as a bolt of recognition struck down his spine. Damianos and The Egeria were infamous, and Laurent, in particular, had reason to know the name. Still, Laurent didn't have the luxury of being picky, no matter who this man may be or what he had done, curse or no curse. He resolved to keep his recognition to himself.
Damianos held out his hand to Laurent, which Laurent took, with a little hesitation. His palm was rough with callus, his grip strong and warm. For a moment, they simply stood like that, hands clasped, looking at each other. Laurent swallowed hard, stepping back a pace and dropping his hand.
“You know,” Damianos said pleasantly, “in normal introductions, both parties give their names. But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of learning yours.”
For some reason, Laurent felt himself flushing. He looked into the single calm brown eye, forcing himself to keep his gaze steady, straightening his spine.
“My name is—Charls,” Laurent said, speaking the first name that came into his head. Charls was the name of one of the merchants who did business in the palace—he was a clothier, Laurent believed. Laurent wasn’t a common enough name for him to continue using it, at least not until he was far from here. He was well-known in the city, by appearance as well as by name, and he could take no chances.
Damianos was watching him closely, though he just nodded, then looked back to The Egeria. Laurent was grateful for the broken eye contact. The man made him uncomfortable, though he didn’t examine the feeling closely enough to pinpoint exactly why. He mentally shook himself. He didn’t have time for these distractions.
“I am seeking berth upon a ship,” he said, keeping his tone nonchalant. “Preferably one leaving the city today. Your ship caught my eye—she is clearly the finest ship here.”
Damianos looked over at him with his eyebrow raised, letting out a short, skeptical breath. He looked around at the other ships docked at the wharf. There were several impressive merchant ships, and at least one passenger ship with new sails and fresh paint. He turned back to look at Laurent, his eye sparkling with amusement. Laurent held his gaze, refusing to back down from his statement.
“The finest ship here? No man besides myself would think that a serious claim, and even I recognize that my opinion is biased. Perhaps your vision is even poorer than mine?”
Laurent narrowed his eyes, annoyed. “My vision is perfectly adequate, as is my judgment.”
“Very well,” Damianos said, his smile lingering. “But, I’m sorry to tell you, The Egeria does not take passengers.”
“I’ll pay,” Laurent said, “handsomely.”
Damianos shook his head. “Even so, I’m afraid it’s not possible. Crew only.”
“Then hire me.”
Damianos turned to fix one incredulous eye on Laurent, the confident tone clearly catching him off guard.
“The only member of crew I am lacking is a navigator,” Damianos said. “I have no room for a cabin boy.”
Laurent felt his temper rise at the implication and, with effort, forced it down. He needed to get aboard this ship—now. He could practically feel his uncle closing in on him. “I will be your navigator,” he said through slightly clenched teeth. “You need not even pay me.”
“And what,” Damianos said, “would you know about navigating? Forgive me, but despite that truly disgraceful vest, you look like a rich merchant’s son, likely never stepped foot off land.” He did a slow, insulting scan from Laurent’s head to his toes and back up, with a look on his face that made heat flush through Laurent’s body. He kept his anger barely in check.
“I’m surprised you can see what I look like at all. Perhaps if you had two functional eyes, you would be able to see the opportunity I am handing you. My father had ships, and I spent more of my youth on water than on land. Wherever you want to go, I can get you there.”
Damianos was looking at him with a calculating look in his eye, seemingly undaunted by the insults, though Laurent could not tell if he believed him or not. There was silence for several moments.
“My first mate is on his way back with a skilled and experienced navigator,” Damianos finally said, watching Laurent closely. “The position is filled.”
Laurent turned a sharp smile upon him. “You will choose me.”
Damianos raised a wry eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Laurent looked away, turning back to The Egeria, the lion poised proudly at her bow, eager to sail. “Yes,” he said simply. “It is.”
*****
Damen was still cursing his own lack of self-control as he strode up to the helm. He ran a hand over the smooth wood, wishing they were already underway. He always felt on edge when he was near land, and he was particularly unwelcome here. The sooner they were on open water, the better.
Nikandros had given him an earful when he had returned with their new navigator and found the position filled. He had taken one look at the young man who claimed his name was Charls—Damen didn’t believe that for a second—and dragged Damen into his cabin, leaving behind the confused-looking man he had intended to be their new navigator.
“You must have seaweed growing between your ears, because your brain has clearly vacated the space,” he had said, barely keeping his voice down. “We’re going to end up shipwrecked and lost, all because you can’t say no to a pretty blond. You’re not cursed, you’re just stupid.”
“Nik,” Damen had replied, his voice a warning. “I am the captain here. I didn’t hire him because he’s blond. I hired him because I think there’s more to him than meets the eye. You know what we face—we need all the help we can get.”
“And what about the crew?” Nikandros had asked quietly, watching Damen seriously. “Do you truly think he won’t notice anything? You know what will happen eventually. You can’t trust him.”
“I know,” Damen had said with a bitter twist to his mouth. “Of course I know. Do you think I have forgotten? He is a navigator, nothing more. I shall keep him at arm’s length.”
He knew that Nikandros spoke the truth, and he had to be careful. But it was true, Damen did believe there was more to his new navigator than what it appeared. He knew that the young man was lying to him about his name, at the very least—the pause had been minuscule, but still discernible to someone paying close attention. Damen was willing to let it go, for now. He certainly wasn’t the strangest member of Damen’s crew, and as long as his past didn’t put them all in danger, it was none of Damen’s business. Charls would tell him who he really was, or he wouldn’t. It changed nothing.
A small, traitorous voice came to life in the back of Damen’s mind, asking if he would have so readily accepted a lying stranger onto his ship if he hadn’t looked like that. Damen pushed the voice aside.
There was no denying it, the man was uncommonly attractive, and he was exactly to Damen’s tastes, down to the last golden hair on his head. His icy blue eyes had been contemptuous and haughty, true, but that only made him all the more enticing. Damen could almost feel his presence, somewhere below him in the crew’s quarters, drawing him like a compass needle to true north.
Still, Damen believed he was telling the truth when he spoke of his experience at sea. Plus, he was clearly desperate to leave this city, which meant he was likely to do whatever he was asked to do. Life aboard The Egeria was dangerous and difficult—he needed his crew loyal, and, if not loyal, compliant.
It sounded like excuses even to him.
Regardless, he had made his choice. For better or worse, he had his navigator, and it was time to return to the open water.
Shouting orders to the crew, he pointed the bow into the wind and ordered the sails unfurled and hoisted. The deck came to life, men scurrying to and fro to their posts as they prepared to sail. Slowly but surely they made their way away from the wharf, and Damen felt something inside him ease as the horizon opened in front of him.
As always, though, just underneath the sense of rightness that came with the sight of the sea, his soul was calling out to something lost, to a place his heart yearned for and a place he could not find—home.
*****
Laurent returned to the deck, having stowed his few possessions. He moved to the quarterdeck to stand beneath the mainmast, watching as the wharf grew smaller and smaller. He could see the towers of the palace, rising above the rest of the buildings, though he could recognize nothing else. From this distance, it was difficult to even distinguish between the sections of the city.
He took a deep breath, feeling his heart lighten with each gust of wind that carried him further away, though an uneasy whisper ran through his heart, echoing coward, coward, coward. It had his uncle’s voice.
Heavy footsteps on the deck alerted him to the presence of someone coming to stand beside him. He turned his head and was unsurprised to see Damianos next to him, looking back to the diminishing city as it gradually fell behind them.
“You seem eager to leave this place behind,” Damianos remarked, looking over at Laurent.
Laurent fixed him with a discouraging stare, one that hopefully would forestall further questions. “My business is my own,” he said.
Damianos seemed undaunted. He inclined his head. “Very well. Know, however, that if your past puts this crew in danger, you will be removed from this ship at the nearest port. I do not tolerate troublemakers.”
Laurent raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich, coming from a pirate.”
Damianos froze beside him, then slowly turned to face him.
Laurent made a derisive sound in his throat. “Did you think I was unaware? I know who you are, Damianos. The Egeria is quite notorious to my people. As are you.”
“Your people.” He said it as a statement, but Laurent could hear the question underneath.
Damn. He had slipped, and Damianos was attentive enough to notice. Most people did not use phrases like that. Laurent forced himself to keep his face blank. “Yes,” he said, his tone betraying nothing. “The people of my country. Does The Veretian Queen mean anything to you?”
Damianos was not quite as successful at hiding his emotions. He pressed his lips together, his hand going rigid on the railing. “I’ve heard of it,” he said, and Laurent noted—with some satisfaction—the tiny tremor of unease in his tone.
Laurent fixed him with a long, searing stare. Heard of it. Very well—if Damianos wanted to play this game, Laurent would play along. For now.
Damianos did not back down from his gaze, fixing him with a glare of his own that was quite impressive in its strength, considering it was coming from only one eye.
“Since you know so much about me,” Damianos said, “perhaps it’s time to be on even footing. I will not ask more about your background, but I would appreciate your true name.”
Laurent blinked. He was quite a good liar; it was a required skill when dealing with his uncle, and though he would never admit it, he was rather proud of it. It wasn’t often someone caught him in a lie. He rearranged his esteem of the man in front of him. He was no fool, and Laurent needed to tread carefully.
He considered giving Damianos another false name, but the danger was mostly past now that Laurent was aboard and they were on their way. If Laurent could earn a modicum of trust, he may be able to use it to his advantage.
“Laurent,” he said. “My name is Laurent.”
He searched Damianos’s face for any sign of recognition, but other than a slight narrowing of his eye, Damianos didn’t react outside of a short nod.
“I appreciate your candor,” he said finally. “It’s nice to truly meet you. If you’d like, you can call me Damen. I'm told it’s less of a mouthful. Welcome aboard The Egeria, Laurent.”
With one last lingering look, Damianos turned and walked away, returning to his post at the ship’s helm and locking his gaze onto the horizon. Laurent watched him for a long time, and by the time he turned to look back at the city, it was gone.
*****
There was something strange about the crew. Laurent couldn’t put his finger on it, but as the days passed, he became more and more convinced that there was something right before his eyes, something known to everyone but him. It drove him mad—he did not like being the only one in the dark.
The men were hard workers, if perhaps a little rough around the edges. Laurent had known when he had chosen The Egeria that he was no longer among nobles and courtiers. It was clear, however, that to them, he was nothing more than a soft, fragile boy. He had heard more than one comment about how he had been allowed on the ship only because the captain had wanted something prettier to look at than the rest of the crew.
Laurent told himself it didn’t bother him. Let them think what they want. He was here for one purpose—to get away from his uncle. That was all that mattered.
One afternoon, about a week after they had set sail, Laurent found himself the focus of one of the more coarse crewmembers. Lazar, Laurent remembered, was the master gunner, and held a fair amount of sway amongst the crew. His opinions often were mirrored in the other men. If Laurent could win him over...
Laurent was standing on the deck, taking a break from bending over navigational charts. He felt Lazar approach, circling around him like a shark on the hunt.
“Careful, boy,” Lazar said, coming to stand in front of Laurent. “You wouldn’t want to burn that pretty fair skin of yours.” He gave Laurent a leering look, his eyes sliding down Laurent’s body in a way that left no doubt to what he was thinking.
Laurent straightened his spine, ignoring the urge to curl into himself, to escape the gaze. It was something he had practiced often enough over the years, and to the outside eye, he knew nobody could tell. He leveled his coldest gaze at Lazar and smiled. It was a combination that he knew was disconcerting.
“Yes, thank you for the warning,” he said. “It would be tragic if I followed in your example of trying your best to acquire skin the color and texture of an overripe date.”
Lazar narrowed his eyes, but did not make a move towards Laurent, as he had expected. He studied Laurent for a moment before speaking again.
“So what is it that brings a wealthy young man aboard such a wreck?” Other members of the crew had gathered, forming a small crowd around Laurent. “Surely you aren’t just here to fuck the captain.”
Laurent had to resist the urge to look towards the quarterdeck, where Damen stood with his back to them, talking to Nikandros. He smiled at Lazar.
“Jealous?” he asked. “Forgive me, but you don’t quite seem his type.”
The leer was back on Lazar’s face as he took a step forward. “I could be yours, though, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. It caused his blood to heat, though he allowed none of his anger to show on his face, hidden under a calm, cold smile. “I think you’ve misjudged my type. It does not typically include aging, ragged men who look like they spend more time being dragged by the ship than aboard it.”
That wiped the smile off Lazar’s face as several of the watching men laughed. Laurent, feeling a trickle of the satisfaction that he always felt when engaged in conversations that he knew he was winning, continued.
“What you seem to be saying,” he said, “is that I don’t look like I belong here. I admit, I am rather better dressed than you are. Perhaps you could let me borrow some of your rags, so that I could attempt to blend in better.”
An idea sparked in his mind, a way to perhaps earn a little respect from the crew. He looked around, his eyes lighting upon a man repairing a torn piece of sail. Walking over, he held his hand out.
“May I borrow that needle?”
The man, looking nonplussed, gave it to him. It was long, sharp, and rather thicker than he would prefer, but it would do.
Turning back to Lazar, he walked straight up to him until he was no more than a pace away. Lazar was only an inch or two taller than him, staring at him warily as he approached. Laurent imagined that he hadn’t expected Laurent to stare him down holding a needle—he likely wondered where exactly Laurent intended to stab him with it. The thought was tempting.
Instead, Laurent tilted his head, brushing some of his hair away from his ear, and stretched the earlobe as well as he could with one hand. He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and, without breaking eye contact with Lazar, pierced the needle through his ear in one quick, smooth motion.
It hurt, and he didn't even want to think about how unclean it was, but Laurent forced himself to keep his expression the same, without even a flinch of pain. He left the needle in his ear as he reached in his pocket and drew out a long, glinting earring with several large sapphires dangling from it. It had been a gift, from Laurent’s favorite courtier. Nicaise, a young boy, was the closest thing Laurent had to a friend at court—and, with his uncle’s eye straying often to Nicaise, he had done his best to protect him.
And then he had abandoned him. Laurent shook off his guilt. This wasn’t the time.
Drawing the needle out as smoothly as he could, he quickly threaded the earring through his newly-pierced ear, ignoring the raw, burning throb that had begun. He lowered his hand, giving the men a good look.
“There,” he said to Lazar. “Now I look a little more suited for a pirate ship, do I not?” Lazar didn’t respond, looking at him with a shrewd, calculating gaze. Laurent drew himself up to his full height, letting the smile slide from his face. “I’m not here because I’m fucking the captain,” he said, and he let his eyes wander to the other men, one by one. “I’m here because I have a job to do, and I’m good at it. If anyone gets in my way, they will find themselves looking up from their backs at the point of my sword.”
There was a faint smile on Lazar’s face now, and Laurent could tell he was trying not to laugh at the thought of Laurent fighting anyone, though his expression was not without respect. Without looking away from Laurent, he tilted his head towards a handsome man to his left.
“Pallas, go find our friend here some more appropriate clothing to match that lovely new jewel of his. He can save his fancy clothing for the captain.” He said the last part with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. The young man named Pallas turned and disappeared below deck.
“Are you done sizing up my navigator, Lazar?” came a deep, mild voice from behind Laurent. He looked over his shoulder to find Damen there, with Nikandros slightly behind him. Nikandros’s gaze, when it rested on Laurent, was decidedly less friendly than Damen’s.
Lazar walked around Laurent, pausing at his side. “For now,” he said, and, with a theatrical wink, he walked away. The rest of the men dispersed to their respective posts.
Laurent turned to face Damen. He watched as Damen noticed the jewel hanging from his ear. Damen opened his mouth to speak, blinked several times, then closed it. For a moment, there was nothing but the shouting of men and the charged air between the two of them. Then Damen swallowed, seeming to gather himself.
“I don’t pay you to distract my men,” he finally said.
Laurent lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t pay me at all.”
Damen frowned. “Yes, well… I am the captain of this ship, and you are aboard it in exchange for your services. We need to be in Dardania by tomorrow night. I would appreciate it if you would get back to work.”
Every bone in Laurent’s body rebelled against the commanding tone, but he forced himself to swallow down his displeasure. He took several slow steps forward, stopping just as he got to Damen’s side. There were barely a few inches between their shoulders. Laurent could feel each one of those inches like a livewire. Damen looked down at him, and Laurent could swear Damen had stopped breathing.
“Of course, Captain,” Laurent said, adding a twist to the title that caused Damen's frown to deepen, holding his gaze with his own for a few exceedingly long seconds. He saw Damen’s eye slip to the earring again. Laurent wished he could tell what was going through his mind.
Letting the moment pass, Laurent turned and went back below the deck, returning to the warped maps and the long, tedious hours of calculations ahead of him.
*****
Damen stood at the bow, letting the refreshing mist of the sea spray keep him cool. This was where he came when he wasn’t needed at the helm, when the wind filled their sails and they seemed to soar above the crests of the waves beneath them. The lion figurehead kept him company with his restless thoughts.
And most of his thoughts, these days, were occupied with Laurent.
The young man did have navigational skills, as it turned out, which seemed to both annoy Nikandros and set him at ease. Laurent was able to bring them safely and quickly to each port that Damen directed him to. Though Laurent didn’t ask what they sought, and Damen didn’t reveal any information, he could see the sharp questions in Laurent’s eyes as he looked at Damen over the maps spread in front of him. Damen met that challenging gaze, though those blue eyes were searing enough to make him want to look away.
Still, Laurent did as he was asked, and kept his curiosity buried, for now. Damen suspected that Laurent knew Damen would not give information freely, and the price would be Laurent’s own secrets. They stood on a tenuous bridge of understanding, neither of them revealing more information than was necessary.
And yet Damen found himself drawn to Laurent and his barbed tongue, despite his better judgment, despite Nikandros’s continued warnings, despite all of his past experiences. The rest of the crew had accepted Laurent with little difficulty after the stunt with the earring, but he had earned himself the reputation of being somewhat similar to a lionfish—beautiful, elegant, and sharp, but, unless you wanted to get stung, you wouldn’t want to find one in your bed.
Damen rather thought that last part was up for debate.
He closed his eye, shaking his head slightly. It was the earring, that’s all. It lent him an exotic, untouchable look that made Damen’s hands itch to test whether the untouchable part was universal or just exclusive.
He had caught himself more than once watching the dangling sapphires as they glinted in the low light above the maps, brushing against the sharp angle of Laurent’s jaw as he leaned over the table to show Damen something. He knew that Laurent had noticed the lingering gaze—once, Damen had sworn there had been a slightly proud glint in his eyes as he looked up and caught Damen staring.
You’re a damned fool, he thought to himself in a voice annoyingly similar to Nik’s. Do not forget your purpose in favor of an arrogant, callous aristocrat, just because his hair is the color of the early morning sun and his eyes remind you of the sea.
Still, he was only a man, and it had been such a very long time...
“Captain.”
Damen was startled out of his brooding, turning towards the voice. He hoped that his thoughts were not obvious on his face.
“What is it, Jord?” Damen asked, taking in the serious look on the man’s face. Jord was always serious, but the set of his jaw told Damen that something had happened. Before he could stop it, his mind immediately jumped to Laurent. Had he gotten into trouble with the crew?
“Word from the crow’s nest,” Jord replied. “There’s a ship on the horizon, and she’s gaining on us.” He paused, watching Damen warily before continuing carefully. “She’s flying Veretian colors, Captain.”
Damen swore. They had been careful. He had paid the port clerk handsomely to record the ship under a false name, and they had been docked less than four hours. There should be no reason that a Veretian ship was tracking them.
Cursed, indeed.
*****
Laurent was in the middle of a calculation that would bring them to their next port when he felt a subtle shift in the speed of the ship. Straightening and rubbing the kink from his neck, he paused, hearing the clamor of pounding footsteps on the deck above him.
Something was happening.
He emerged onto the deck straight into the midst of carefully contained chaos. Damen was at the helm, shouting instructions; men scrambled to batten down the hatches, stowing everything that was loose, trimming the sails and tightening the ropes.
Laurent pushed down the spike of panic that threaded through his chest at the sight. There was no point in assuming the worst before he even knew what was going on.
He slipped through the men, making his way to Damen, who was watching the horizon through a spyglass, oblivious to Laurent’s presence. Laurent followed the direction of his gaze, and it didn’t take him long to see what had set The Egeria into motion.
White sails glinted in the sun as the ship cut through the waves towards them. Laurent felt a familiar dread seep through his skin, though the ship was not nearly close enough to confirm his suspicions.
“Let me see.”
Damen lowered the spyglass, looking over at Laurent in first surprise and then exasperation.
“Do you always order around your superiors?”
Laurent looked cooly back at him. “Not when they’re actually my superiors. Which is very rare.” He caught the flicker of indignation on Damen’s face before he reached over, grabbed the spyglass, and pointed it towards the ship. He heard Damen let out a resigned sigh.
All it took to confirm Laurent’s suspicions was a strong gust of wind, catching the fabric of the flag flying from the mizzenmast—blue on gold. The same flag that had once flown from the masts of The Veretian Queen. Below it, a flash of scarlet designated the ship as one of his uncle’s.
Laurent lowered the spyglass slowly, his eyes never straying from the horizon. The ship was coming closer, like a predator upon the waves. He should have known his uncle would never let him out of his grasp so easily.
“You should stay below deck.”
Laurent turned his head to find Damen watching him. He didn’t even bother responding, and after a moment Damen let out a breath of a laugh and looked away.
“You’re not trying to outrun them,” Laurent said after a few minutes of silence. In fact, The Egeria had stopped, waiting for the Veretian ship to approach.
“Of course not,” Damen said, as though it were obvious. “How exactly do you suppose we make profit out here? They don’t give you the name ‘pirate’ for running legal cargo from port to port.”
Laurent chided himself for forgetting what ship he was on. Any vessel that came close enough would be boarded and raided, its supplies plundered and pillaged.
Damen was watching him. “I suppose you have objections, given the fact that the ship is Veretian.”
“I don’t want you to raid it,” Laurent said, and Damen nodded, his suspicions confirmed. Laurent let a long moment stretch out before he finished. “I want you to sink it.”
Damen’s shock was palpable in the air between them. “You—what?”
Laurent turned to face him full-on. “I want you to sink the ship,” he repeated. “Do not board it, do not raid it, do not leave any survivors.”
Damen’s gaze was searing, as though he were searching for answers beneath Laurent’s very skin. Laurent didn’t back down, but met his gaze with a resolute one of his own. It was imperative that word did not reach his uncle.
“Dead men tell no tales,” Damen said quietly, almost a question.
Laurent nodded. “Quite.”
“And why should I? You’re asking me to send valuable supplies to the bottom of the ocean. My men need to eat.”
“Do they?” Laurent asked softly. “It’s strange, then, why I seem to always be eating alone. Perhaps I was not given the proper schedule for meals.”
Their tenuous bridge of half-truths and omissions was growing shakier by the second, and Laurent had just shot a hole through it. Damen stared him down, his jaw clenched tight.
“You haven’t answered my question. Why should I do this for you?”
“Because I am part of your crew and your only navigator,” Laurent answered sharply, “and it is also very much in your best interest to ensure none of those men ever set foot upon land again.”
Damen didn’t reply for a long time. He stared at Laurent—Laurent could practically see the thoughts churning like storm-tossed waves in Damen’s head—and then he turned to stare at the approaching ship.
Time stretched on as they stood there in silence, and Laurent knew it would be unwise to break it. Then, making a decision, Damen moved to the front of the deck to shout down to his crew. “Bring us about!” he said in a booming, commanding voice that even Laurent felt compelled to obey. “We’re going to take her broadside. Ready the cannons—we give no quarter. Send her to the depths.”
For a moment the crew froze, staring at Damen in shock. These were clearly not their usual orders. Lazar was the first to move, gesturing to his men to join him below deck at the gunports. It was a mark of their respect for Damen that the rest of them moved to do as they were told without any questions.
“Nikandros is going to have my head for this,” he heard Damen mutter to himself, and then Damen was turning towards him again. He closed the distance until there was barely a breath between them. “You will have your wish,” he said in a low voice, “but when this is over, you and I have some talking to do. I will not ask any questions now, but be prepared to tell me why I am murdering a ship full of men who have not wronged me. I do not take the stain upon my soul lightly.”
With that, he brushed past Laurent, moving to meet Nikandros, who was storming up the stairs with a furious look on his face. They were too far away for Laurent to hear clearly, but he was sure he heard his name more than once.
He found himself unable to move his feet. I do not take the stain upon my soul lightly. It made no sense, not coming from Damianos. For all that he seemed to possess a mild nature, Laurent knew who he was, what he had done—he had more reason to know than anybody. Damianos had murdered before in cold blood, with no provocation. Why should it matter to him now?
Laurent felt unsteady, and it wasn’t from the swell of the waves beneath his feet, nor the approach of his uncle's ship, but from the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps he was missing something—that perhaps, just maybe, he was wrong.