Chapter 33, Sarah

  Hobbling to the door of my cabin takes an eternity and as soon as I get through the door, I notice the metallic smell that lingers in my hair. I lean over and push the window open, resting my elbows on the sill and let the warm breeze caress my bare skin. A communal bath on deck wasn’t my favorite. I’m not shy, it’s just going to take more than cheap soap and spirited scrubbing to erase the stain of killing. The first thing I’m doing when we get to Sanctum is soaking in the hottest water I can stand until I’m shriveled.

  After putting on fresh clothes I slump into the chair and take a closer look at my injured foot. Removing my boot felt like tearing my own skin off. But now, looking at the coloration, I realize my ankle isn’t as badly sprained as I thought. It’s the outside edge of my heel that’s tender from putting all the pressure there.

  The gash near the arch isn’t deep, but it’s wide enough to need a couple stitches. I pull the cork from a bottle of rum with my teeth and hiss when the alcohol hits the open flesh. Then I fish a small pouch from my pocket. A sewing kit Sonya let me borrow. She offered to help, but I’m picky about how a needle pierces my skin. Most people want it over fast. I prefer to go slow.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Roberts enters, closing the door behind her. I glance up from threading the needle, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. She walks past me to the open window and looks out. Her jaw is set and she’s gripping the sill with white knuckles.

  I wait for her to speak. When she doesn’t, I pinch the edges of my torn skin, feeling for the right place to set the first stitch.

  The needle is sharp, and the first poke is easy. The tension rolling off Roberts in tidal waves however, is anything but.

  She’s still grieving her losses, I know that. But I’ve had enough of her silent judgment. I know I disobeyed an order, but if she can’t see why it had to be done, then maybe she isn’t someone I want to team up with in the first place.

  It’s petty, really. To go on brooding when you haven’t heard all the facts. She still doesn’t know about the new phenomenon I experienced, being conscious in two places at once.

  If she wants to be a giant ass, let her. See if I care. I’ll just be here stitching up the hole in my body that I got while defending her goddamn ship.

  Roberts turns around and lets out a clipped exhale. “What if I’d missed?” she asks, her voice almost a whisper.

  My hands freeze and I look up. Her shoulders are raised, a deep line creases her brow. She looks…worried. And it’s throwing me off.

  “Was that part of your vision? Did you know I would make the shot?” She asks, her expression pained.

  The image of her, right before she took the shot that saved me, flashes behind my eyes. That momentary lapse in focus, when her eyes met mine. As if she was begging for reassurance.

  “The vision ended when Tobias took me hostage.” I say.

  Is that what’s been eating her? A pang of guilt twists in my gut. Why didn’t she tell me?

  Roberts takes the chair across from me, and rests her elbows on the table. I can feel the restless shaking of her knee through the floor boards.

  “If you had just done what you were told—”

  “Oh that’s rich.” I scoff. “Are you shaken by the thought of failing to save me or are you pissed off that I undermined your authority? Which is it? Because if this is about me disobeying orders, you should know it wouldn’t have changed any—” My hand drifts upward, accidentally tugging on the sutures. I clench my teeth and suck in a breath. “The premonitions are fixed fates, I’m certain of it now.”

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  Roberts is silent while I finish the last stitch and tie off the thread.

  “You think I would have let Tobias grab me if it could have been avoided?” I say, flashing her a twisted grin. But it does nothing to ease her strained expression. She just stares at the table, wringing her hands.

  Maybe because I’ve never seen her like this before, or I feel guilty for assuming the worst of her, but I reach across the table and cover her hands with mine. I rub the back of her fingers with my thumb and catch her shoulders relaxing.

  “Anyway the bastard is dead now. And you’ve got a new ship.” I’m trying to meet her gaze, but she won’t look at me.

  Roberts pulls her hands away. The chair scrapes the floor as she abruptly stands. “I should go.”

  She rushes out so quickly she nearly slams into Manee, whose fist is raised to knock. Roberts brushes past without another word. Manee watches her leave, then looks at me with brows raised. I shrug.

  “Sonya said you might be done with that needle?” Manee says, stepping in just enough to reach for the pouch in my outstretched hand.

  “Do you want help?” I ask.

  Manee gives me a tentative smile, raising their arm and exposing the blood stain on their side near the lower ribs. “If you’re offering.”

  “I saw you take that one.” I say, carefully untying the bandage. “You recovered quickly. It was quite impressive.”

  “I barely remember it.”

  “Raise your arm a little higher.”

  Manee lifts their arm another inch and winces, lowering it back down. “My shoulder, it doesn't move that way.”

  “Since when?”

  “Long time. It's getting worse, too. Old age I guess.”

  I chuckle. Calling Manee old is a stretch. But come to think of it, I do remember a couple times they struggled to use that shoulder. Once climbing the rat lines and another time when it took two of us to uncoil a line that was wedged around a cleat.

  “What’s so funny? I’m thirty six, practically ancient.” Manee says.

  “Hm, sure. Try leaning forward, rest your hands on the table, ” I say, uncorking the rum. “Good just like that. Ready?”

  Manee takes a long inhale. “Do it.” They don’t flinch when I douse the wound.

  I clean the needle and Manee lets me work in silence, until the ship heaves. A lift and a drop that makes me yank on the thread. Manee winces.

  “Sorry,” I groan.

  “I can’t wait to get off this damn ship.” Manee grumbles.

  “I’d think a pirate is most at home on a ship.”

  “Eh, you can only take so much before you’d do anything to have your feet on solid ground again.”

  “A hot bath, that’s what I’m looking forward to.” I sigh, inspecting my work. “Alright, that should hold it.”

  “Thanks.” Manee rises. “Offer still stands if you need someone to talk to…about what happened.”

  “I know. Don’t let that get infected. And, drink plenty of water,” I say. Manee has been a good friend, but I’m not ready yet. Maybe I will be soon.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they say, a mischievous glint in their eye.

  “What?” I grin sheepishly.

  “It’s cute, how much you care. Might have to roughen up your edges a bit if you want to make it as a pirate, that’s all.”

  I can feel my cheeks flush as I scramble for a witty response. “Noted,” is all I can muster.

  “We’ll be on the lower stern deck at sunset, just the officers. It’s tradition after a fight. Join us if you’re feeling up to it, Nav.” Manee winks. The kind of casual gesture that few can pull off. My mind goes blank as a sudden warmth pools low in my stomach. Manee slips out the door and I’m left scrambling to gather my thoughts.

  Was that? It was. My pulse speeds up and my mind starts replaying images of Manee up in the shrouds, one hand barely grasping the yard, and the other arm outstretched like they’re flying. Their eyes are closed, basking in the morning sun as sea air tosses their light brown hair. I shake my head as if I can knock the image loose. Stop it, Sarah. You know how this ends. Still the fantasies won’t stop. I see Manee, shirtless and beaded in sweat, intently focused on a tangled line and biting their lip. And then I’m biting mine. Stop, no.

  I storm out the door, walking fast as if there is anywhere to go but the same planks on the same damn ship. I think of Roberts, of how only hours ago I was indulging the delusion of telling her how I feel. And now I’m fantasizing about Manee.

  Every other step sends a sharp pain into my injured foot. Still I keep my steps heavy. I wince, suck in a breath and stomp harder. How hard do I need to slam my foot down before my mind is clear?

  A mop handle flies in my face and I catch it.

  “Get to work, sugar. The deck won’t swab itself.” Gery winks.

  And just like that, the voices in my head go silent. Relief loosens the tight cords of discontent, and that small inch of space to breathe sends tears welling along my waterline.