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“I’ll take the truth tea again, in front of them all if I have to,” she insists.
I shake my head, knowing it won’t be enough. “You could have undeniable evidence. I could brew the tea in front of them so they know it’s real and they can watch you take it, but there will always be someone who thinks they were tricked.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling under the surface. “I’m not sure how to fix this.”
She gives me her other hand and I do the same, working the salve into the deep scrapes.
“Do you believe me?” she asks, catching me off guard. “Or do you still want me dead?”
I hesitate, weighing my words carefully. “I want to believe you, Scarlet,” I confess. “But the truth tea works most of the time, and some blood witches, specifically those who used to be the king’s royal mages and druids, know how to protect themselves from it. It makes me feel a little better about all of this, but it’s not solid proof.”
“Is there any way you’ll know for sure?” Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears as she stares up at me. I want to tell her the answers she wants, but I’d rather say nothing than lie.
I swallow hard, hating the words that are about to leave my lips. “The only way that’s a hundred percent accurate is to float… I can’t promise you it won’t come to that. But I can promise it won’t be tonight.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything more.
“There,” I say, checking to make sure I’ve gotten them all. I hold her hands, palms up, so she can see they’re healed. “All better.” She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t beam with light. I miss that… I’m not sure if I’ll ever get that side of her back or if it’s wise to try, but I can’t resist the urge to comfort her. Bringing her hands to my lips, I kiss the top of each. The door swings open before I can drop them, and I meet Zephyr’s wide-eyed stare. He quickly shuts the door again, and I breathe out a frustrated sigh.
“The man has impeccable timing,” I say, letting go of her.
Scarlet, to her credit, manages to keep a straight face, though her cheeks are flushed. “Sebastian,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “thank you.”
I steal one last glance at her before leaving the room.
“What the hell was that?” Zephyr asks, speed walking to keep up with me as we enter the companionway and travel to the lower level to where the wardroom is.
“It was nothing.” I try to brush it off, but Zephyr isn’t buying it. Instead, he gives me a knowing look, the one that says he’ll demand answers until he gets them.
“That was not nothing,” he insists as I push open the door to the wardroom.
Inside, Smee, Nelvin, and Lorian are waiting for us. A large round table sits in the center of the room, surrounded by dark leather chairs. The walls are adorned with maps and weapons, and the air smells like saltwater mixed with the scent of old wood and rum.
Smee leans back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, and Nelvin lounges beside her, lazily swirling his drink. Zephyr passes them, taking a seat next to Lorian and the druid drapes an arm casually around him. They’re polar opposites, but they fit together like puzzle pieces.
This is all that’s left of my crew masters. The rest are resting in the deep, but they’re also the people I’m closest to, and the fact they’re still breathing gives me peace.
“Alright, let’s get this meeting started,” I say, taking my seat at the head of the table. The tension in the room is thick, but I can’t afford to let that distract me. There are too many decisions to make and not enough time.
“Well?” Smee says, her voice sharp as a knife, cutting through the silence. “What’s the verdict? Is she a witch or not?”
Zephyr and I share a look, our gazes heavy with unspoken thoughts.
“I don’t know, but she definitely has the mark.” I rap my knuckles on the wooden tabletop, looking everywhere but at my sister. She’s too intuitive for this. She’ll see right through me.
Smee snorts. “It’s pretty black and white.”
“Scarlet claims to have been marked without conviction,” I explain, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need more time to figure it out.”
Laughter bursts from Smee, harsh and mocking. “That’s just what a witch would say. In fact, I’ve heard it more than once.” Her words sting, but I push away the hurt, forcing myself to focus on the matter at hand. Smee levels her gaze at me. “You can’t seriously be contemplating this... Blood witches took our family from us. If she’s marked, then she’s one of them and deserves to share the same fate.”
My chest tightens as if bound by invisible chains. I’m caught between my growing feelings for Scarlet, the renewed emotions coursing through me, and the undeniable truth that Smee is right. Letting Scarlet live, knowing what she is, would disgrace the memory of both my parents. They’re like rolling in their graves as we speak.
“She saved the ship. For that, I owe it to her to think about it before just rushing into floating her.”
Zephyr nods at me. “Take your time. We trust you to make the right decision.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely audible above the creak of the ship. “For now, we focus on the ship and its repairs. It’s not going to matter if we all die out here, now will it?” I level Smee with a glare.
Smee, Lorian, and Nelvin exchange glances before giving me a rundown of the Jolly Roger’s status. The damage is extensive, but fixable—though it will take at least a day or two to repair the sails. Zephyr adds that no one is critically injured, mostly minor fractures, scrapes, and a dislocation. At least out of those of us left.
