Page 21 of Of the Stars and Sea

I shoot him a withering look before turning my back on him to follow Tommy through the door.

Sea mixed with the scent of cedar fills my nostrils. The space is larger than any captain’s quarters I’ve ever seen with a huge wood framed bed centered against the back wall. Stacks of leather-bound books litter the side tables and several rolled-upmaps are strewn about the various corners. Red light spills onto the floor from the paneled windows lining the door at my back.

While there is a mess of papers on the desk to the right, Grayson’s bed is neatly made with the duvet and sheets folded down and tucked tightly under the mattress. Four pillows line the headboard and the mere sight of them makes my eyes dreary.

It was a long night and sleep threatens to take over me. But there is no chance I will be caught sleeping inhisbed. Not ever.

The floor will have to do.

“He wishes for me to stay in here—withhim?”I ask Tommy, who stands to my left.

“No, milady. Your quarters are through this door.” He gestures to the left, to where a smaller door is located in the corner of his room. It looks, at first glance, like the door to the captain’s personal dungeons.

So, not in his bed. But right next to it.

He wants to keep me close to him, no doubt, and likely away from the members of his crew who might not be trustworthy, given the significance of what I carry in my coat pocket.

I follow Tommy to the door, but stop just in front of it, noticing a canvas surrounded by a silver filigree frame to my right. The painting reminds me of the carvings etched into theCaelestia’swood surfaces with its dark nature. A white capped sea rages at the bottom—so violent it appears as though the ocean herself is raging against some unseen grief. Gloomy clouds hover above her surface with strikes of lightning crashing into the water. An unjust attack that the sea can’t defend herself against. Higher—above the clouds—is a serene heaven of thousands of stars lit against the darkness of the blackened canvas. The moon hangs to the left, the paint similar to the quarterdeck wall. It glows a pearlescent hue, changing like an opal from the rays of light shining in through the windows.

But what strikes me the most is the cleaving of the heavens. Down the middle of the night sky is a belt of clustered stars mirroring the sides of an inky black crevice. The paint is so black it seems to draw light into it. I find myself being pulled closer, like the canvas itself breathes life and sings some siren song. Beautiful and mesmerizing. Too stunning to look away from.

“Milady?” Tommy’s voice is like a broken twig in a silent forest snapping me back from my stupor.

Blinking, I turn to him. “Yes, sorry.”

Without looking back at the painting, I meet him through the open door into the adjoining chamber.

“This is where the captain would like you to stay.” He moves to the side so I can fully enter the space. The same cedar wood from Grayson’s room lines the floor and walls. A long dresser sits opposite the bed and two side tables occupy each side of the headboard with lanterns above them. It’s plain, with no finishes or décor—a lonesome sight compared to the homey space built right next to it—but the bed looks plush and the sheets appear clean. Honestly, it’s quite more than I would have ever ventured a pirate lord would bestow upon a captive.

I turn to look at Tommy, not sure what to say next. I was expecting to be chained to a corner below deck, not free to roam with a room all to myself.

“All right then,” he says awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to it, milady.”

“I’m not a lady, Tommy,” I inform him quietly. “I’m a pirate captain…not of noble blood.”

“Then what shall I call you?” Tommy asks, visibly choking back his impulse to yet again refer to me asMilady.

“Rowenya is fine.”

“Rowenya it is, then.” Tommy straightens his shoulders, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything.”

He slips out and I’m left alone for the first time in days. The sea lapping against the side of the ship is the only sound that surrounds me and suddenly the fatigue of everything that has transpired threatens to swallow me whole. Making my way to the bed, I reach inside the stolen coat still donning my shoulders and set the Serpent’s Key on the nightstand.

Carefully slipping the heavy coat off, I hang it on the corner of the headboard and notice how stiff my shoulder has become. Before I have a chance to assess it, a knock raps on the door before the handle jostles and I turn to see a white-haired man carrying a round leather bag.

“Who are you?” I ask at once, startled.

“I’m Doc. Captain Tyde sent me to tend to your injuries.”

“I’m fine. I am not in need of your services.” I move to point toward the door and instantly regret it as red hot pain shoots down my shoulder, making its way to the tips of my toes like a strike of lightning.

The man peers at me over the rim of his glasses and shakes his head. Then, he starts moving toward where I stand next to the bed.

Not saying another word, he places his bag on the top of the duvet and starts unpacking bandages and a suture kit.

He nods toward the mattress. “Sit.”

“No,” I reply.

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