His tone is off. Too tight. Jay is always steady, always unshaken. But now, something in his voice makes my spine go rigid. “What is it?” I ask.
He turns his back to me, eyes fixed on the horizon like he’s searching for something hiding just beyond the edge of the world. “Seeing Veyra might not be the best idea,” he says, voice low. “She’s not someone you can lie to. Or control.” He hesitates, then adds, “She’s close to a goddess, Kai. Closer than most men are comfortable with.”
He isn’t wrong. I’ve been dreading this visit since the moment we set course for Pike, long before Mira came aboard. Veyra’s power runs deeper than most can comprehend. She doesn’t just hear the whispers of the world; she commands them. But I also know she sees the truth in people. And if Mira is beside me, Veyra will sense it. She’ll see who I truly stand for. That has to count for something.
“I wouldn’t worry,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel.
“That’s what my father thought too… that he shouldn’t worry.”
My brow lifts. Jay never talks about his parents. That conversation has always been off-limits. “What?” I ask, still caught off guard that he even brought him up.
“My father, he was cursed by Veyra herself. Even sayin’ her name feels like breakin’ a law.” He finally turns to me, eyes meeting mine. “I just hope you’re confident enough to facesomeone of her rank. She’s a goddess, a powerful one.” His voice stays level, but there’s something there, something sad.
“I’m never not confident in what I do,” I say, meeting his gaze. “How did your father die? What omen did she place on him?”
He looks away from me, back out to the endless stretch of ocean. “He took her from him.”
I have an inkling of who he means, but I ask anyway. “Who?”
He takes a long pause, and I wait. “My mother,” he murmurs.
Shock ripples through me. Veyra is powerful, yes, but taking an innocent life to pay for another is ruthless. I can see the unease flicker across Jay’s face, how dragging this memory out has cost him.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know. You never speak of them.” He grunts, lighting his pipe, a coping mechanism if I’ve ever seen one. He takes his time answering, drawing in the smoke, then releasing it slow. The smoke curls through the air, catching the morning light in ghostly ribbons.
He exhales through his nose, pipe smoke drifting between us. “My father thought he could bargain with a goddess and walk away whole. Thought he could cheat her outta what she was owed.” He shakes his head, a low, bitter laugh slipping out. “But no one cheats Veyra. She takes what she’s promised, one way or another.”
He looks out toward the horizon, eyes dark. “He went to her thinkin’ he could save my mother. That’s the kind of fool he was, always tryin’ to fix what was already broken. She warned him there’d be a price, but he didn’t listen. When the sea came to collect, she took her first.”
Jay draws in another long breath of smoke. “So if you’re plannin’ to face her, Cap’, remember this. Veyra don’t forget, and she don’t forgive. If she sets her eyes on Mira… pray the sea takes you first.”
I study him for a moment. His expression is serious, but he recoils into himself, his knuckles going white as he grips the helm tighter than usual. “I have it under control. When don’t I?” I add with a smirk, trying to lighten the tension. Jay doesn’t answer, just grunts, that low sound he makes when he knows better but can’t say.
I turn toward the quarters, hoping Mira’s awake. Just then, a sharp, electric pain crawls up my arm. I shove back my sleeve and freeze. My scar is pulsing, dark veins spidering out from it like ink spreading through water. Black. Not red. The ache settles into a steady rhythm, a heartbeat beneath my skin that isn’t mine. I cover the scar. Some things are better left unseen and better ignored. There are more pressing matters.
My thoughts race back to Jay as I descend the stairs, his words echoing in my head.
He’s sharp, steady, sees right through people. He was fiercely loyal to my father until the day he saw me covered in bruises. I was barely tall enough to grip a sword. Most would have looked the other way, but he stepped up. Took me in. Raised me like I was his own. Had the crew do the same. He was never afraid of my father’s wrath when it came to protecting me.
He joined our crew young, maybe fifteen, and somehow still knew more about loyalty and piracy than most men twice his age. When I asked him once why he cared, why he stayed, he said, “He may have raised you with brawns, but I raised you with purpose.” I don’t know where I’d be without him.
Mira is just waking as I step back into the room. She stretches, arms rising above her head, and her shirt lifts with the motion, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. A faded birthmark curves along her right side, sweeping across her ribs like it’s been painted there by the ocean itself. I haven’t noticed it before. Subtle, but striking. Like a secret only the sea has known until now.
She catches me staring. Her eyes meet mine, sharp green, aglow with the golden morning light streaming through the windows. She looks ethereal.
“Morning, treasure,” I say softly, the words leaving me warmer than I mean them to. I want to break the tension we’ve had since yesterday. I need her to be on board with the plan to go pay a visit to Veyra.
She tries to suppress a smile but it slips through, soft and unguarded. “When did you get up?” she asks, no edge to her voice, just quiet curiosity. That alone stuns me.
“A while ago,” I say, moving closer.
She throws the blankets off, revealing smooth, bare legs, her skin kissed by sunlight and sea air. It’s the first time I’ve seen her like this. Unshielded. Bare. But still every inch in control. My pulse thuds. Every instinct screams to crawl back into that bed and devour her whole.
She catches the look in my eye, one brow lifting with amusement. “You’re staring.”
I don’t deny it. “And?” I murmur, letting a small smile slip. Her cheeks flush instantly, that soft smile tugging at her lips, radiant in a way that knocks the air from my lungs. She looks like she belongs here, like the sun has always been meant to rise on her in my bed, in my life.
Without a word, she slips into her pants, keeping the white long-sleeved shirt she wears to sleep. It slides off one shoulder, just enough to tempt. My restraint is wearing thin.
